


Green and Gold

by sighclops



Series: Ivy and Twine [4]
Category: Star Wars Legends: Knights of the Old Republic (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2020-11-22 19:48:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 52,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20879714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sighclops/pseuds/sighclops
Summary: A new war wages beyond the Outer Rim, but Meetra Surik's still fighting to heal from her past. She reluctantly begins her search for Revan, accompanied by a ghost that--turns out--isn't a ghost at all. AU.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel but stand-alone. Reading Ivy and Twine first will provide a lot of context and background for Revan's character, but it isn't necessary to understand this fic.

_The lines that you spoke were graceful and cut to the core._  
_You had everyone gripped at the part where you wanted the answers._  
_You see violent times but you get out alive in the end._

_You learn fear is just a fleeting thing._

\--

Meetra falls in and out of her dreams--images, flashes of Coruscant, of the sun sheening across the city, of the way the evening light echoed off the windows in shades of gold. She dreams of afternoons spent in the company of Malak and Master Kavar, and how the comfort of it still resonates deep within her. It’s a time in her life that she’ll always miss--when each day promised something new; something good. 

She dreams of the ice in Revan’s eyes, that coldness that never came undone; the feeling she can’t name except for the way it made her hands shake. It happened before--it happened long before the wars and Meetra’s one of the only people left alive that knows the truth: that before the monster was known, the monster was made. 

In this dream she speaks up sooner, in this dream it doesn’t take her as long to turn to Malak, to whisper, _ I think there’s something wrong with Revan_. 

In this dream he agrees with her. 

Meetra is made of memories that have been slashed apart and fit back together. She has watched the greatest of heroes rise and fall, and she’s turned her back on them. She’s been outcast, separate and alone, and still the Force dragged her back to the center of it, shined a light on her, and said, _ You don’t get to walk away from the mess they made. You have to finish what you started_. 

Which would be easier, perhaps, if Revan had died along with Malak. 

There are things Meetra doesn’t say; there are things she can’t. She willingly gave herself to what should have destroyed her, and part of her will always think, _ I could have done more. _ Part of her will always wrestle with the guilt and the sorrow, and somewhere underneath it all: anger. 

_ It isn’t over_, is what Kreia says as she breathes out her last, and Meetra finally feels like she understands the older woman. It’s what the Force has been saying this whole time--

_ This is just the beginning, and you have to be ready. _

\--

“She looks terrible.” 

“Helpful, thanks. Any other astute observations you’d like to share?” 

“Oh, astute? That’s a big word for you, ace. I’m not kidding, she looks like she climbed out of a sarlacc pit a few thousand years too late.” 

“She killed three Sith Lords in less than two days, how do you expect her to look?”

“Well, she might look better if you were able to kill one of them--you know, when you _ had the chance to_.” 

“I wore him down!”

“You can’t wear him down, he’s invincible. The worst you could’ve done is take a cheap shot at his good eye.”

“How do you know I didn’t?”

“You didn’t.” 

“I could’ve. And he’s not invincible, Meetra killed him.”

“No thanks to you.” 

“Nice. Yeah, while you were busy playing rockets with a wookiee, some of us were actually trying to help.” 

“Oh, don’t bring him into this--”

Meetra stirs at the sound, opening her eyes only to flinch at the bright white of the medbay, all blurry and out of focus. In her peripheral are the dark shapes of Atton and Mira, and her head throbs as she turns to look at them. 

“Woah, hey, take it easy,” Atton says, and he steps closer to where she can see. Pale skin, tired eyes, and dirty hair--there’s blood caked in his left eyebrow but he’s managed to clean his split lip. In all honesty, he looks awful, but he smiles like everything is easy and despite the way her body aches, Meetra smiles back as he says, “You’ve, uh, taken on a lot these past few days.” 

“I’ll say,” she murmurs, and when she blinks, her eyes stay closed for a moment longer than they should. “Why are you two arguing?”

“It passes the time,” Mira answers. “How do you feel?” 

She takes a moment to assess. The first point of contact is where Atton’s hand wraps around hers--that doesn’t hurt. There’s an indistinct soreness in her limbs and a sharp pain in her side, but it’s mostly her head that aches behind her eyes. She sucks in a ragged breath and says, “I’ve been better.” 

“Lucky for you, I think you’re through the worst of it,” Atton says, and he squeezes her hand once. “Or at least, that’s what Mical said earlier.” 

“I should let him know you’re awake,” Mira offers. 

As she leaves the medbay, Atton raises his free hand to push Meetra’s bangs out of her eyes. His lips curve into a smile as he watches her, and she wishes she could feel the same relief that sits openly in his expression. Her thoughts are a blur of memories of Malachor, both past and present. There’s her and her pride, years ago, watching over a planet she was ready to destroy. There’s her and Kreia, hours ago, standing at the center of the Trayus Academy, the older woman struggling with her last breaths as she asked her to go after Revan. 

_ She needs you more than you’ve ever needed her_. 

Meetra’s tired. She’s so tired after months of fighting for her life, fighting for this crew, fighting to understand why the Force would put her through all of this. It’s been a fight to understand her wound, her power, and now--why Revan needs her. 

Revan’s never needed her. She’s only ever needed to use her. 

“Malachor’s gone,” Meetra murmurs, her voice hoarse. “Kreia’s dead.”

“I know,” Atton says, and he’s still touching her. One hand’s still curled around hers, the other rests against her temple as his thumb smooths over the top of her cheek. It’s more tenderness than she expected from him, but if she focuses, she can feel the warmth of the Force in his hands. 

As much as he refuses to believe it, healing comes naturally to him. 

“Why didn’t that kill me?” she asks, because some part of her always assumed that going back to Malachor would be the end for her. As if she hasn’t paid for her crimes enough, the planet itself existed only to finish what it should have done all those years ago. If Malachor is destroyed, then she should be too. She was tied to it--a graveyard of the past, broken and wounded, just as she was tied to Kreia. 

“I don’t know,” Atton murmurs back. “I honestly couldn’t tell you, but I’m glad it didn’t. I can’t lose you yet. We just started, Surik.” 

She hums, her lips pulling up only slightly at the corners. Her whole body feels wrong, but her vision’s steadier now and her aching head calms against Atton’s touch. It’s true, though, it’s easy to get lost in the rush of everything always happening, but time has been very short, and their relationship is still at the beginning. 

(It hasn’t been that long since they first met, even less time since Korriban, when--after burying her former master, after escaping that _forsaken_ _cave_\--she broke down. She still remembers gasping for air, avoiding the sight of her ragged image in the refresher’s mirror. Atton found her, wrapped his arms around her, and Meetra pushed. Meetra gave in to the desire she’d shoved aside. Meetra, ruined and desperate, needed him to know but couldn’t say it, and so she’d put her lips to his and kissed him again and again. 

And Atton--well, he was the one to pull away first, his eyes full of sorrow as he said, _ Not like this. _

She’d paused, her hands still cupped around his jaw, the taste of cigarettes still on her tongue as she realized that he meant it. That he wanted her but he wanted something different. That all the bravado, all the flirting and the jokes, covered the fact that he wanted it to be real--not this desperate attempt for comfort, to drown out the pain of what had happened. 

So Meetra let go. She looked him in the eyes and said, _ Okay. _

Because he will always be more to her than the fool Kreia says he is, but even a fool can be brave.)

Meetra watches him now, blinking back the white lights that continue to dominate her vision. The medbay has never been her favorite room on the _Ebon_ _Hawk_, even less when she’s bound to this bed, but its not so bad with his gaze intent on her. She forgets sometimes how striking he is, sometimes she gets caught up in the image that he wants people to see. The scoundrel. The cheat. The liar. 

She gazes back at him, her dark eyes locked on his, and she knows that it’s a front he’s put up for a very long time. Perhaps it’s what’s drawn them together--they’re two people who know what it is to be broken, they know what it is to heal, but they can’t seem to figure out how to put down the mask. 

But they have each other, and they still have a ways to go. Meetra blinks back the residual ache in her head, leaning into his touch as she asks. “Where are we going?”

He smirks. “Back to Telos.”

“Of course we are.”

“The Admiral sent us a message, by the way. It sounds like he wants to speak to you again.” 

She groans. “Of course he does.” 

“You’re awful cute like this, you know.” 

Meetra narrows her gaze, fixes it on him and his wicked grin, and says, “You’re such a charmer.” 

He winks at her, and it’s just a second later that Mical walks into the medbay. Meetra pretends she doesn’t notice the way Atton’s hand falls from her face as he leans back in his seat, tilting his head to look at Mical. His other hand stays wrapped around hers, but all softness slips from his features. Meetra understands her bond with both men, but she'll always be uncertain about their relationship with each other. 

“It’s good that you’re still awake,” Mical says as a greeting. Considering all that they’ve been through, he looks fairly normal. The only thing that gives him away is the exhaustion in his clear blue eyes. “How do you feel?” 

“Alive,” she answers. “Which is better than the alternative, I suppose.” 

“Anything’s better than that,” she hears Atton say under his breath, and when she looks at him he gives her a small, close lipped smile. “I should head to the cockpit, we’ll be landing in a couple hours and I, for one, still don’t trust TSF.” 

Meetra nods, but before he leaves, he leans over her and places a kiss against her forehead, a smile lingering on his lips as he pulls back. Mical takes his seat a moment after he’s gone, and his blonde hair falls forward over his face while he reads the datapad in his hands. 

“Your vitals look good,” he says.

“I’ve got a good doctor.” 

He glances up once before he does so again, and this time his eyes stay on her. Mical is a warmth that she’s grateful for. She always thought it was fitting that they found him on Dantooine--he radiates the same peace as the plains, as the hazy lines of purple clouds on the horizon. 

He lowers the datapad to his lap and, as always, sees straight through to her heart. “I know that couldn’t have been easy for you.”

“No,” she confirms, and though she’d rather leave the image behind, she can’t help but think of Kreia in those last moments. She never felt especially close to the woman, doesn’t think she could’ve considering who they both are, but there was a respect there. There was guidance, even if it couldn’t always be trusted. “No, not at all, but I’m curious what life will look like without her in it.” 

“The bond’s been broken,” he says quietly. “Do you know how?” 

She shakes her head but the lingering pain is enough to make her wince. “You can always count on Kreia for a good mystery to solve.” 

Mical cracks a smile. “Now that it’s done, hopefully there will be plenty of time to solve it.” 

“Hopefully,” she repeats, “but I get the feeling that won’t be the case.” 

“What do you mean?” 

She sighs. “There were things that Kreia said...” 

It doesn’t take him long to catch on. “Revan.” 

_ ...the true war is not against the Republic. It waits for us, beyond the Outer Rim. And she has gone to fight it, in her way. _

“I don’t know if I can ignore it,” she says. 

He watches her for a long moment, and she can feel the tug on their bond. It’s just a shift, just the slightest feeling but it’s there, and it helps him stumble onto the truth. “You want to ignore it.” 

Meetra just shakes her head. “What I want has never really mattered when it comes to Revan.” 

It’s not something they talk about, but it’s not something she hides. Their fallout is public knowledge--their bad ending: the moment that she looked at Revan and Malak and said she wouldn’t follow them to whatever hell they were heading for. 

But her words are sharp and sit uncomfortably in the medbay. Mical glances away for a moment before asking, “What did Kreia say?” 

_ And, like you, she knew she must leave all loves behind as well, no matter how deeply one cares for them_. 

“Not much,” she answers, and isn’t that like Kreia? She gave her wisdom as a parting gift but it wasn’t enough. She always says _ so much _ but it narrows down to the smallest portion. Why must the lesson always be taught through the riddle? She sighs. “No doubt things will become clearer once we get to Telos.”

“I’m sure,” Mical murmurs, but he doesn’t look satisfied. She feels that pull on their bond again, but this time he just lets out a long breath, turning his attention down to the datapad for a moment before looking up at her again. “You should get some rest in the meantime.”

Meetra nods; she knows he’s right. “Thank you, for everything.” 

“Of course,” he says, and he smiles warmly at her before getting up. Pausing in the doorway, he turns to regard her. “You should be proud, you know. What you’ve done is no small thing.” 

He doesn’t give her the chance to answer, he walks out of the room shortly after saying it, leaving Meetra with some nameless emotion creeping up her throat. It’s something she hasn’t felt in a long, long time. 

There was always the shame for what she’d done, who she did it for, and how long it took her to let it go. This whole journey’s brought her more healing than she could’ve expected, but it’s not easy to look back at her actions and feel anything close to pride. She was never meant to be the hero, still doesn’t feel like she is, but Mical’s words hold some thread of truth. 

She lets the thought carry on until she begins to drift off again, falling into dreams of city towers. 

\--

Mical's the one to wake her up when they land, but Atton comes by just a moment later. The two of them help her up, and while her first few steps are unsteady, she’s able to walk without their support by the time they make it to the garage. 

Taking a breath, she looks up to see the rest of her crew gathered at the top of the loading ramp. They look to her, and she feels a different emotion well up inside of her as she regards them. Bao-Dur, Canderous, Visas, and Mira. Her crew. Her friends. T3 beeps behind her and she looks back to see HK waiting there as well. 

She wouldn't be here without any of them. 

"Hey," she says, and feels the corners of her lips rise. "I don't know what happens next, but I'm so grateful for each and every one of you." 

After everything they’ve been through, everything that’s happened these past months, to look into the eyes of these people she’s grown so close to and know that they _ made it_, to see the echo of relief in all of them, to feel the Force humming between them--it’s enough to give her the strength to keep going. 

It’s Mira who rolls her eyes. “Okay, you sap. Let’s get moving, I heard they’re giving us our own rooms and I really want to sleep in an actual bed, for once.”

\-- 

TSF meets them in the hangar. Lieutenant Grenn personally leads the team, helping them unload the _ Hawk _ and offering to show them to the block of apartments that have been reserved for them. Everyone tiredly goes along with it, slinging bags over their shoulders and following behind. 

Meetra lingers, though, once she catches sight of Admiral Onasi waiting opposite of the ship. His red uniform stands out among all the grey durasteel, a bright spot against the dullness of the station. He's too far away to catch his expression, but she knows what he wants.

"You coming?" she hears Atton ask, and she turns her attention to him. The rest of the group has moved on but he stands only a few steps ahead of her, with his brow raised and his sleeves rolled up. Meetra glances at Onasi again and she knows Atton follows her gaze. 

"I should speak to him first," she answers. "Go on, I'll catch up." 

She senses his hesitance, but he nods absently. "Ditching me already, sweets?" 

"Trying to," she says, and meets his grin. "Nothing works, though, I can't seem to get rid of you." 

He just rolls his eyes. “You could blow him off, you know. I'll write the doctor's note and everything. Anyone can see that you're injured, he'll understand." 

“I think I’ll be okay."

“All I’m saying is that it wouldn’t hurt to wait. A shower and a good night’s sleep would put you right.” 

The smile doesn’t leave Meetra’s face as she draws closer. “Atton Rand, are you worried about me?” 

He’s lulled in, drawn to her like he can’t help it. He glances down at her lips and Meetra smirks as one of his hands settles on her waist and he asks, “Now why would I do a thing like that?” 

“You’re worried about me,” she says with some measure of satisfaction, and leans up to kiss him. “I promise I’m fine.” 

He levels her with a look, like he’s trying to figure her out, but he seems to accept that there’s nothing he can say to make her put this off. Meetra Surik is a stubborn creature, and Atton’s been around long enough to figure that out. He takes a step back. “Come find me later?” 

Meetra hums. "You’ve got it."

He takes another step back. "And tell Onasi he can answer to me if he tries to bring your mood down." 

"Yeah, yeah," she says, but grins as she backs away as well, this time in the direction of the Admiral who continues to wait across the hangar. Meetra’s injuries still feel stiff and agitated, and once Atton’s eyes aren’t on her, she allows her shoulders to drop, wincing at the way her body aches.

She didn’t think there was anything more to discuss between her and Onasi, but apparently something’s changed. She can feel it in him--the anticipation, the renewed flame of hope. He’s always worn his feelings just under the surface, where they could be reached if one tried hard enough, but this--this is as obvious as the color of his uniform.

"Master Surik," he says as she approaches, and his voice carries that same gravelly, rough edge to it. "I can't thank you enough for what you've done. I think we both know that the outcome would've been different if you weren't here--I still owe you one." 

She huffs out an awkward laugh. "Considering I'm the reason it happened in the first place, I'm not sure how grateful you should be." 

Admiral Onasi has such a sad smile, she thinks as she watches him. His lips press together in a way that could be happy, if you squint. There’s such a warmth to him, all brown eyes and dark hair, his beard a little fuller than the last time she saw him. The distance in his gaze is exactly the same, and she wonders if this, too, is evidence of what Revan’s done. 

_ She left without warning, _ he’d said at their last meeting. _ None of us could wrap our minds around it. It just didn’t make sense, for her to leave all of this behind. _

“Regardless,” he says now. “We’re happy to have you.” 

She offers him a grin of her own, wondering if he sees a different kind of sadness in hers. “You wanted to talk?” 

“Yes,” he confirms, and nods to his right where they fall into step together. They walk down a corridor lined with the same dull colors of the station, and their footsteps make quiet noises below them. “I thought I made my peace with...the situation, but there’s been a development.”

“What happened?” Meetra asks. 

He presses his lips together and keeps his head forward. “Look, I’ve never claimed to know much about the Force, but I can tell when something’s up. There’s someone who needs to see you, but it might be better to let them explain.” 

She has to hold back from asking who it is as they approach the door to his office, but she can’t help the unease that sinks into her stomach. Thoughts rush through her mind, cycling through everyone from her past that could potentially show up behind that door as her hands curl into fists. She keeps them at her sides as the Admiral goes ahead of her, scanning his ID to enter the room. 

It looks the same as it did the last time she was here: mostly empty except for the photographs on his desk--people she doesn’t recognize--and awards that he’s accumulated over the years displayed behind it. The only difference this time is the woman who stands at the window with her back to them. There’s the obvious outline of Jedi robes, and her hair is long and pulled into twin braids that trace down her back. 

Something about her is painfully familiar. 

It’s only a moment before the woman turns, and Meetra’s lips fall into a helpless, sad smile as she takes in Bastila Shan’s blue, blue eyes. 

“I’m guessing we’re not here to discuss the restoration project,” Meetra says, but it falls flat. The room stays quiet as Bastila steps towards her. 

Meetra knows her more from the news than any time that they’ve spent together. Bastila’s the one that was meant to save them from Revan--she was going to single-handedly stop the war. Meetra always thought that was too much pressure for any Jedi, especially as young as she is, but seeing her now, she can’t deny the way the Force manifests itself in the woman before her. It’s blinding--clear, strong, and capable. 

Meetra’s comforted by it as much as she’s wary of it, but she extends her hand. “It’s been some time.” 

“It has,” Bastila confirms, and returns the gesture. The last time they saw each other was before she left for the war, and Bastila must’ve been only fifteen or sixteen years old, already touted as the next prodigy. Her reputation was undeniable and her devotion to the Council even moreso, and so the story goes--Malak couldn’t convince her to join them, and Meetra hasn’t seen her since that false image in the cave. 

“I haven’t told her anything,” Carth explains as he takes a seat at his desk. He watches Bastila with a sense of familiarity and right--they’ve known each other for years at this point. “I figured it’d sound better coming from you.” 

“Yes, well,” Bastila pauses, and those blue eyes pin Meetra in place. “I suppose we should get right to it. Forgive me, I wouldn’t interfere at all if it wasn’t for the vision I’ve had. It seems the Force is at work in you, and I feel as though you should have all the information if you’re going to follow its lead.” 

Meetra has many questions for Bastila. _W__here have you been?_, and _why didn’t you come sooner? _are at the top of her mind, but what she actually asks is, “What was your vision of?” 

Bastila just raises a brow. “You.” 

“Me?”

“And Revan,” Bastila continues. “It was of the two of you, and she was in danger.” 

Meetra suppresses a sigh, knowing that the inevitable is coming, knowing that her opinion might not matter anymore. “You think I’m the one who can find her.” 

“I do,” she confirms. “We’ve been searching for years, and it’s been empty until now. Until you.” 

“I--” _ don’t want to_, she almost says, but it wouldn’t help the situation. Her eyes look to Carth but there’s still that sense of hope in him and she doesn’t think that helps, either. She lifts a shoulder. “I wouldn’t know where to begin. You’re not the first--I know what I’m supposed to do, but I don’t know where Revan is. I couldn’t even guess.” 

Carth and Bastila share a look, and Meetra frowns at the two of them. Something instantly changes as they communicate without words--some silent rhythm, going back and forth with just their shifting expressions. It passes between them for a long moment, until Carth sighs and says to Bastila, “She’s the only one from before. He’ll talk to her.” 

“You’re sure?” 

Carth just nods, and Meetra feels something in her chest twist as the young woman turns to her. The room feels heavier than it did before, darker despite the industrial lights, and Meetra almost doesn’t ask. She watches them wrestle with whatever they’re uncertain of, and Meetra honestly doesn’t think she wants to know. 

But still she asks, “What’s going on?” 

Bastila takes a breath, sparing one more look at Carth before centering her attention on her. “There’s someone who might have an answer for you--who might be able to help. He’s...distanced himself from us, but we have reason to believe he might speak to you.”

Bastila trails off and Meetra’s heart pounds, as if somehow she already knows she’s not going to like whatever answer they give her. It takes her a moment to find her voice enough to prompt: “Who?” 

“Meetra,” Bastila starts, and her tone is too soft. It’s too gentle and Meetra doesn’t understand what they’re tiptoeing around, or why Bastila keeps looking at Carth the way she does. She glances at him one more time before she finishes, “Malak’s alive.” 

And the room spins as the words sink in. She’d question whether Bastila said them at all, if it wasn’t for the way they repeat relentlessly in her mind. The room spins and Meetra feels it in her head, in her chest, in her stomach. The stark white light of the office blinds her vision like it did in the medbay, and she can’t focus on anything, can’t breathe. 

She can’t do this because Malak is supposed to be dead. She’d heard about it and grieved in the only way she could, and that was it. She left it behind, and it’s not fair for this to come back to her this way. 

She’d left it all behind: Revan, Malak, the Force. 

Both Carth and Bastila watch her, their eyes gauging her reaction, but she can only shake her head helplessly. It’s a lost motion, and in this moment nothing else exists. There’s nothing to say except for the single word that leaves her lips: “_How?_”


	2. Chapter 2

It’s been eight years since Meetra last saw Malak. 

Eight years, and it all fell apart so fast. It wasn’t much of a fight, in the end. No--there wasn’t anything left to fight. Revan had made her choice and Malak was resolved to stay with her until she ruined him. Everything was left broken, empty, and tired. The look in Malak’s eyes: broken, empty, tired. 

Eight years. It’s longer than she ever knew him for. They used to be so young. He was just nineteen--just a kid--and Meetra barely sixteen at the time. She’d always try to finish her lessons early, rush through Coruscant’s Enclave, and catch him and Master Kavar before they’d finish sparring. He used to joke around with her, invite her out with his friends, and say, _ Someday you’re gonna put us all to shame, Mee_. 

Eight years. It’s strange to miss someone who’s hurt you. 

\--

“How?” Meetra asks, and she can feel Carth and Bastila’s shared gaze on her, but she focuses on the wide window at the end of the room. Beyond it, the black void of space swallows up the light from the station as ships speed by, and it’s comforting in the only way it can be. 

“Revan confronted Malak on the Star Forge,” Bastila begins, “but instead of killing him, she decided to save his life. She kept him hidden up until the time she left.” 

Meetra’s gaze is still fixed on the window as she murmurs, “Malak’s alive.” 

“He is,” Carth confirms, and there’s enough sympathy in his voice to catch her attention. “I was with them briefly on Kashyyyk, and I was the one who took them to Coruscant. I should’ve known something was wrong when she asked me to look out for him, just in case.” 

But she’s still catching up, and that’s too far ahead. “Did the Council know?” 

“Yes.”

“How were they okay with that?”

“He’d changed,” Bastila admits, and it doesn’t look like an easy thing for her to say. “I know firsthand how terrible he became, but even I recognized the difference in him.” 

Whatever spark of hope that ignites in Meetra’s chest dies quickly under a wave of anger. 

“He and Revan--” she starts, but it can’t go anywhere. She hasn’t had to talk about the two of them in so long. “Where is he now?”

Bastila sighs. “He’s on Taanab.” 

That’s where Revan lived before the wars. Meetra almost says this aloud, because it’s the only way she can try to understand it. Revan saved Malak. Revan left. Malak lives where she once did. None of it adds up--the pieces don't fit the puzzle, and there’s so much that Meetra doesn’t know about them anymore. 

“Did she remember him?” 

It wouldn’t make sense if she did, but it wouldn’t make sense if she didn’t. From what Meetra heard, Revan’s broken mind had been replaced with a new identity and new memories, so why would she save a Sith Lord if she didn’t remember him? The old Revan would have, the one that Meetra first met on Dantooine all those years ago. Say what you want about her, but their loyalty to each other was never in question--it’s what dragged him down with her, after all. 

But if Revan remembered him, why would she leave him behind? 

“I don’t think so,” Carth answers, and laughs a short sound to himself. “You know, we had a knack for arguing about it. Up until the end, she hadn’t remembered anything, but I don’t know if that changed. I don’t know if that’s why she left.”

Bastila adds, “I never sensed her memory return to her. Our bond had frayed, but she still felt like her new self.” 

Something about that doesn’t sit well with Meetra. _ Her new self_. She doesn’t know how anyone could just accept that. How could they know who Revan was and let her be anything else? Why couldn’t they hold her accountable for what she’d done? They let her go--they always let her go. 

“Do you still sense her?” 

“No. Not for five years, now.” 

This isn’t right. How is Meetra supposed to show up on Malak’s doorstep and say, _ Remember me? I’ve never yelled at anyone the way I’ve yelled at you, but that’s fine, where’s Revan? _

How is she supposed to confront her past when she worked so hard to leave it behind? 

She sighs. “It sounds like Revan was just using him. If she left without remembering him and he hasn’t gone after her, then he doesn’t know where she is.” 

Their shared gaze lands on her again, and she can feel the questions lingering in the air. It’s Bastila who frowns at her, her pale skin easily shadowed by the cold white lights of the station as she asks, “Why do you believe that?” 

“Just--given who they are, what their relationship was like,” Meetra explains, which isn’t much of an explanation. She hates the loyalty that she still feels for them. It was a well kept secret during the war, no one ever spoke about it because Revan didn't want to appear weak, didn't want anyone to know that anything could make her weak. Malak held so much control over her, even if he never realized it. He could've changed so much if he'd only realized how much he meant to her. 

It was easier, to see it from the outside. Meetra only found out by accident--she'd walked in on the two of them in the war room, compromised only by their proximity and the guilt in Malak’s eyes as Meetra stood in the entrance, brows furrowed. 

She only knew as much as they told her--never felt right about asking, anyway. They let their guard down in front of her after that, but Meetra never questioned how long they were lying to everyone. 

(Her and Talvon used to gossip about them during their downtime, both of them were somehow simultaneously angry with Revan and Malak but still craved their attention. They’d share a look when the two of them would disappear into the same tent, or when they’d have unspoken conversations in front of everyone. But then Talvon died, and Revan and Malak had each other, and Meetra's always had to deal with it alone). 

So yes, even now, even still, it’s not something that’s said aloud. 

All she can do is shake her head. “I don’t know if it matters anymore. Even if he knows anything, I don’t think Malak would speak to me again. In the end, there was very little trust between us.” 

“He still might be our only chance,” Bastila argues, conviction laced in her voice. 

“It has to be worth a try,” Carth adds.

Kreia. Carth. Bastila. No one’s asked Meetra if it’s what she _ wants _ to do. They place it before her, tell her it’s necessary, and expect her to take action. To them, it doesn’t matter if these people hurt her--not if it means saving Revan from whatever danger she got herself into. Not if even _ slightly _ concerns Revan.

Meetra’s exhaustion hits her all at once, the weight of the past few days falls over her as she tries to come up with an answer. To find Malak. To find Revan. Is this why the Force came back to her? To throw her mercilessly into the past?

“I’ll think about it,” she settles on, taking in Carth and Bastila’s expressions. There’s an emptiness in them left behind by Revan’s absence, and for a moment Meetra wants to believe them. “We should talk in the morning. I just need some time.” 

Sympathy passes over Carth’s expression. “Of course.” 

But Bastila just watches her with the same searching gaze, and she doesn’t say anything until they’re standing at the door. 

“The Force is guiding you,” she murmurs. “I’m afraid it can’t be ignored.” 

Meetra just presses her lips into a smile that’s not quite a smile. She knows this--she’s here, isn’t she? She won’t pretend it’s for any other reason. 

She says her goodbyes to them as a protocol droid meets her in the corridor. She listens to its mechanical footsteps as it leads her back to the apartments, and her mind is a mess of thoughts that follow her. 

_ Malak’s alive, Malak’s alive, Malak’s alive_. 

There’s nothing to distract her: it’s late and the station is quiet, and she can’t stop the images that come back to her. Malak in the Enclave’s hallway, wide windows shedding light over his porcelain skin. Malak on Dxun, curled in on himself sitting in front of the campfire. She’d laid a hand on his shoulder then, felt the dizzying confusion of the Force in him, and told him they’d make it out okay. 

There’s the image of Revan on Dantooine, commanding everyone’s attention. She never needed words, never needed the mask. It’s just who she was, and the thing is, she never looked the part--she could school that sharp gaze into something innocent, could always reign it in when she needed to. 

She was always dangerous.

Meetra’s mood has darkened by the time she’s led back to the block of apartments. They look exactly the same as they did the first time they were here--her, Kreia, and Atton locked up together. So much has happened since then, it feels like she needs to reach back to even find the memory. 

Inside it’s dark and she leaves it like that. The window lets in enough light to see the shape of Atton, fully dressed, sprawled halfway on the bed like he didn’t quite make it. Meetra has to stifle a laugh as she takes in the sight of his booted feet hanging off the edge, his head tipped to the side, and his eyes closed as he takes deep, even breaths. 

_ What am I going to do with you? _ she thinks to herself as her smile falls. She tugs on her own robes as she thinks about it, thinks about what Kreia said, thinks about the look on Bastila’s face. She knows what she needs to do but she looks at Atton, too, and wonders if she has the strength to do it. 

Down to just her undershirt and her leggings, she draws closer and unties the laces of his boots. As gently as she can, she attempts to pry them off of his feet, but he stirs after she gets the first one off, tilting his head further into the top blanket before opening his eyes. 

“You’re back,” he mumbles, his voice low with sleep. 

She’s a little less gentle with the second boot, letting it drop onto the floor. “Did you pass out?”

“Something like that.” It takes him a moment to sit up, and he looks at her in the dark with tired eyes. “How’d it go with Onasi?” 

Meetra just makes a sound, somewhere between a hum and a groan, and crawls over him on the bed. She settles in even as she feels his gaze locked on her, and pulls up the blankets as much as she can with him sitting on top of them. He’s propped up on one elbow, and Meetra huffs. “Come here, please.” 

“You always ask so nicely,” he says, but instead of coming closer, he gets up. The blankets are trapped in her fists, tucked up under her chin as she watches him take his jacket off. Most of his clothes follow, and the light that drifts in from the window touches all over his lean body. He comes back to her, settles in beside her, and in the dark they face each other. 

Meetra lets go of the blanket to reach over, pushing his hair aside where it falls over his face. The single touch gives them permission to lean into it, and Atton pulls her closer. She goes willingly, tucking herself against him as she feels his arms wrap around her. 

She’s too numb to cry, but the weight of her emotion is still present in the room.

"I'm gonna have to have words with Onasi, aren't I?" Atton asks, his mouth against the top of her head. 

Meetra allows herself to breathe, pushing her thoughts aside to focus on his touch. She presses her lips to the smooth plane of his chest and closes her eyes. "Not really your style, Ace." 

"Well I'd offer to take his credits, but he doesn't strike me as the gambling type." 

"I think he'd surprise you."

"That bad?" 

"Something like that," she says, because it’s easier than talking about it, because talking about it means she’ll have to think about it and right now she needs it to go away. 

"Do you want me to kick his ass? I mean, he seems pretty important but I'd do it for you." 

"Is it wrong that I find that sweet?" 

He laughs quietly in the dark. "Hey, there's a reason we ended up together." 

“Remind me again why that is?” 

“Real funny, Surik.” He can’t seem to help it, though. He kisses the top of her head and Meetra smiles against his chest.

“I think I am.”

“You’re something alright,” he says. “Are you tired?” 

“Very.” 

“Then come here.” He adjusts his arms around her, and this is one of her favorite things about Atton: the way he always moves closer, how he’s always somehow louder with his affection. 

Meetra closes her eyes but doesn’t fall asleep--not at first. Her exhausted body needs it but her thoughts are too alive. She can feel time passing, can feel it when Atton falls asleep. His body relaxes marginally, his breathing becomes steadier, and Meetra lays awake and listens to it. Her mind rushes again and again, but it’s easier to manage with the slow inhale, exhale next to her. 

She extends her senses, feeling the calm wave of sleep in the surrounding apartments. Tilting her head back, she studies Atton’s face in the dark. She doesn’t get many of these moments, not with everything going on, but in the quiet, in the peace of his sleep, she watches him and allows herself to draw closer to the truth of her feelings.

He just...looks so sweet like this. She lifts a hand to brush his hair out of his face--it’s gotten too long, it nearly reaches his chin--and she watches the fan of his lashes, her gaze sweeping down to the soft curve of his lips. Some part of her still finds it hard to believe that this is becoming something normal between them. She hasn’t allowed herself to feel like this before--hasn’t allowed herself to get this close to anyone. 

It terrifies her. 

They don’t talk about it, they just let it happen. Neither of them have said _ I love you_, but in moments like these, Meetra comes so close. 

Somewhere in her thoughts she must fall asleep, because the next thing she knows she’s blinking her eyes open on the other side of the bed. They’ve drifted apart in the night--Meetra looks over her shoulder to see the outline of Atton’s back. He’s kicked off the blankets and lays on his stomach, making soft snoring sounds.

She sits up, and the perpetually dark station doesn’t lend well to telling time, but a glance at the chrono tells her that it’s only five in the morning. Wide awake, she gingerly gets out of bed, careful this time not to wake him. 

She steps into the bathroom, flicking on the light and flinching at the sudden change. It takes her mind a long moment to catch up, and when it does her stomach drops as she sees her reflection in the mirror. 

She moves towards it, her steps slow as her eyes trace over the yellowing bruises that line the left side of her face. Her eyes look...empty. Lifeless. Her hair is scraggly and hangs down by her shoulders. Her bangs are long enough now that they can be tucked behind her ears, and it’s strange that something so small can make her feel so unlike herself. 

She tells herself she’s fine as she grabs a pair of scissors out of the medical kit. The first few cuts are made with shaking hands, but the steady sound of the scissors, along with losing the dead weight of it, brings her a sense of relief. It gives her something to focus on, allows her to drown out the thoughts that try to rise up. She starts at the bottom of her hair, making a blunt cut just above her chin, then evens it out. 

The hair falls to the sink, and by the time she starts on her bangs, she hears Atton stirring in the other room. He enters just a moment later, looking a little bleary-eyed as the white light washes over him and he leans against the doorway. “Do you always cut your own hair?”

Meetra watches his reflection in the mirror, a small smile helpless on her lips. He moves to sit at the edge of the bathtub, resting his chin on his hand as he watches her. She skims the scissors over her brow before answering, “I don’t trust anyone else to do it, so yes.”

“Why not?”

She smirks. “I figure enough people want to kill me, I shouldn’t give them scissors and access to my neck.” 

“Fair point.” 

Meetra finishes trimming her bangs, stepping back to assess her work in the mirror. It’s not perfect, but she looks more like herself. Her hair has been cut more or less like this since the end of the war, after her exile, when she was on her own for the first time. It’s a familiar self, one that she’s used to, and it’s almost comforting to see it again.

“What do you think?” she asks as she turns to face Atton, leaning back against the sink.

He watches her for a moment, and she likes the way his grey eyes crinkle as he looks her over. There’s a warmth in his gaze, and his head tilts to the side before he finally decides on, “Beautiful.”

“Charmer,” she says, because it’s what she always says, because she looks in the mirror and doesn’t see what he sees. “How’d you sleep?”

He makes a short sound. “Good? Weird. I had weird dreams. Still better than the cockpit.” 

She thinks back to all the times she found him asleep in the pilot’s chair, all the times he’s complained about his stiff neck, and laughs to herself. “I wonder why.”

“A real bed and my girl? Yeah, no mystery there.” 

Oh, her stomach drops at that. “Who are you calling your girl?” 

“You know, just this powerful Jedi that I met on Peragus. She’s really short. Quite recently cut all her hair off.” 

“Not all of it,” she says, and glances over her shoulder in the mirror. “And you’re next, flyboy.”

“Me? Why?” he asks, and he raises a brow, automatically running his hand back through his hair. 

“Because you need one. It’s too long, I’m always pushing it out of your face.”

He pouts. “What if I like that?” 

“Cute,” she says. 

He just gives her a long look. 

“I promise I’ll make you look good,” she continues as she grabs a towel. She comes closer and Atton doesn’t pull away, so she wraps it around his shoulders. “Look, see? I’ll be gentle.” 

“Promise?” 

“Promise.” 

“Okay, go ahead,” he says, and his shoulder relax in defeat. Meetra wonders if this is a sign of trust--Atton pretends not to care about his appearance but Meetra knows better. He’s giving himself over to her and Meetra wouldn’t ask for it unless she was certain that she could handle it. 

She steps closer. Beginning with the longest parts, she methodically combs his hair out and trims the excess. She starts slow, wanting to creep up on the length instead of hacking it all off like she did with her own. 

“So what was it about, then?” he asks. Silence never lasts long between them. 

“What?”

“You and Onasi.” 

Meetra almost sighs but holds it in. She doesn’t want to keep it from him, and she knows that she shouldn’t keep it from him--knows that she probably couldn’t, in the long run--but she doesn’t know what to say. She doesn’t want to repeat the words that were spoken to her in that office. 

Taking a breath, she makes sure her hands are still steady as she moves to the sides of his hair. His shoulder presses against her stomach and she forgot about this, what it’s like to touch someone so casually. 

“He had more information about Revan,” she finally answers, which is the truth. Her words sound careful because she’s trying to be careful, and even if it wasn’t for their bond, he’d probably still be able to read between the lines. 

“Does he know where she is?” he asks, just as carefully. 

“No,” she says. “Not quite. He thinks he knows of a way to find her, but I’m not sure about it. I’m meeting with him again this morning.” 

The sound of her clipping his hair fills the space between them for a long moment, but then: “Meetra?”

“Yeah?” 

“Are you going after her?” 

“I don’t know,” she says, which is still the truth. It’s one thing to know that you have to confront the past, it’s another to actually do it. 

His hand reaches up to wrap around her wrist, and she pauses, meeting his gaze as he says her name again. “Meetra.”

“I don’t want to,” she says. “Believe me, it’s the last thing I want to do.” 

“Yeah?” He turns her wrist over in his hand. The scissors are just inches from his face as he kisses the delicate skin there, and her heart sinks into her chest.

All this time and she still finds their bond remarkable. It was just a whisper at the start, just like the Force coming back to her. The bond is what keeps them together, pulls them apart, leaves them open and exposed even when they don’t want to be. Atton doesn’t play pazaak in his head as much these days, so she can feel the fear that he carries. 

She thinks of Kreia’s words, _ you must leave all loves behind_, and wonders how much he has to be afraid of. 

She thinks of herself, what happened in the past and what it means to confront that, and wonders how much she has to be afraid of. 

She finishes cutting his hair. There isn’t much left to do--she meant it when she said just a trim, but it already looks a lot lighter and the length won’t get in his face as much as it did before. Atton stares tiredly at the white tiled floor in front of him and Meetra doesn’t want this to hang between them, but she doesn’t know what to say. 

She steps back to assess her work, and Atton tips his head up, meeting her gaze. In some silent agreement, they move on. 

“Are you done?” he asks.

“I think so.”

“How does it look?” 

Meetra smiles, running her hands through it. It looks close to what it was when she first met him all those months ago. “I’d say you look gorgeous, baby.” 

Atton laughs. “Oh it’s baby, now, is it?” 

“Mhmm.” 

“I like that,” he admits, and Meetra loves it when he shows this softer side of him. There’s a shy smile on his lips that she wants to kiss. She looks at him and maybe she does love him and that scares her, but he looks at her with such vulnerability and she thinks she owes him the same. 

“When do you meet with Onasi again?”

“In a few hours.” 

“Perfect,” he murmurs. “You’re supposed to wash your hair after you cut it, right? Since we’re both here, we might as well save on some time...” 

And Meetra laughs, rolling her eyes, but she leans over him and turns the shower on. He watches her, and there’s a different weight to his gaze as he pulls her into his lap. The spray of the water doesn’t quite reach them but it might as well, and this isn’t new but it is. To feel this and not hold back--Meetra has never allowed herself to fully let go, but Atton meets her there and it’s enough. 

This, at least, feels like it could be enough. 

\--

“I’ve been training them,” she says to Bastila later. “Five of my companions. They’re strong in the Force but they need to refine it. There’s still a lot of things left for them to learn.” 

Bastila just looks at her with curiosity in her eyes, and beside her Carth watches in open confusion.

“If I go,” she continues, her voice tight. “Will you take them to Dantooine?” 

Bastila nods. “Of course.” 

Meetra breathes out. “If Malak doesn’t know anything, I’m done. I’ll meet you there and you can get someone else to find Revan.” 

“But if he does?”

“Then I’ll do it,” she says, with a tight voice in a cold office on a cold planet, promising something she’ll never be certain of. She looks Carth and Bastila in the eyes and says, “I’ll find her.” 


	3. Chapter 3

Meetra’s thoughts often drift back to that confrontation with Visas on the _ Ebon Hawk_. It was the first red lightsaber she’d seen in years, and the fight nearly broke her, but it was the four words her friend spoke that have never left her alone: 

_ My life for yours_. 

Meetra was just a girl when she went to war. Meetra--full of life, full of promise--watched the brutality the Mandalorians unleashed on the galaxy, and felt herself protest at the injustice of it. She listened to the reports, spent every morning reading updates, and she waited for the Council to act. 

They all thought it would be Master Kavar to lead them to war, but Revan was the only one who asked her to move. 

Or rather--it wasn’t Revan, it was Malak who invited her out to talk. They went to their favorite cantina--Meetra could still, to this day, trace the steps there from the Enclave--and they sat close together at a table in the back. It was her turn to buy drinks, and she remembers standing at the bar, looking over her shoulder at him. He picked nervously at the table, looking smaller than his large frame would suggest, and she smiled to herself with a rush of fondness that she’d feel, perhaps, for the last time. 

“She’s leaving,” he said later that night, his hand tight around his glass, and in her memory she always found it funny that in that moment, he separated himself from Revan. 

But even then, Meetra knew better. “You’re going with her.” 

He lifted his gaze from where it was fixed on the table, and despite the dim light of the cantina his eyes still shone. “It’s the right thing to do.” 

“What did the Council say?” 

He gave her a look, one that said _ you know better_, and asked instead, “What do _ you _say?” 

And how he always turned it around, made her feel like she had some importance in the situation. She wishes she knew then how much she needed her opinion to matter, and how easily Revan and Malak used that against her. 

“Are you asking me to come with you?”

Nineteen. She was just nineteen years old. 

“Would you say yes?” 

It was such a dangerous question--it still is, even now. How do you ask someone to walk away from everything they’ve ever known? Away from what defines them?

But Meetra just nodded, her heart racing as her hands curled into fists to keep from shaking. She looked into those blue eyes, and agreed to something much bigger than she could’ve imagined then. 

When it comes down to it, her and Malak aren’t that different. That night they made plans to leave the Jedi for a cause they both believed in, but it didn’t take long for both of them to lose sight of what that was. They both lived and suffered during the war; both of them became something else entirely.

Both of them stood by Revan, and what they really said was, _ My life for yours_. 

\--

Only--somehow they both survived. 

\--

“What was she like?” Meetra asks Bastila. The two of them left Carth’s office together, and now they continue to walk side by side through the station. It’s busier in the early afternoon, with people rushing through the corridors--travelers and droids and workers repairing the damage that was done just a few short days ago. 

Meetra tries not to think about the role she played in that. 

Beside her, Bastila asks, “Who, Revan?”

“Yeah.” 

She makes a short sound as she seems to think about it. “She was...quiet. It was obvious that leadership came naturally to her, but she held herself back. She spent a lot of time meditating--or just thinking, I suppose. There were many good moments, and many parts of her I hadn’t expected.”

“Like what?” Meetra asks, keeping her gaze locked on the patterned floor beneath their feet. She steps carefully between lines, letting herself get distracted by it. It helps. 

“She’d make jokes, or she’d tease me--which I deserved,” Bastila says with a short laugh. “I didn’t see it that way at the time. She made me realize a lot of things about myself, but I don’t know if that was intentional. She just...had a way with people. Our friend Mission was only fourteen years old at the time, and Revan was fiercely protective of her. There were moments where even I couldn’t believe that she was the Sith Lord she once was.” 

_ Sounds nice_, Meetra thinks in her head. She doesn’t believe it, of course, but there’s no reason to tell Bastila that, who continues, “It’s how I imagine how she might’ve been before the war.”

Meetra frowns. “I thought you’d met her before.” 

“Only from a distance.” 

And there’s nothing Meetra can say to that. It’s a habit now, something she had to learn the hard way, not to say anything against Revan to someone who praises her. 

“I should warn you about Dantooine,” Meetra says, shifting the conversation, shifting her posture as she tries to move on. “It’s rebuilt, but it’s not what it once was.” 

“No, I don’t imagine it is.” They walk in silence for a second before she asks, “How bad is it?” 

Meetra shakes her head. “There are many ghosts there.” 

Three more, now: Kavar, Ell, and Vrook. It’s been mere days since Kreia killed them, but it still feels like it happened from a distance. Truthfully, she hasn’t gone near the memory since the moment she left the Enclave. How can she? She’d gone to see them with honest hope, but they’ve never known what to do with her. They let her go and they took her back, and each time they told her what a monster she’s been. They prepared to take the Force away from her, once and for all, and the worst part is that they would have succeeded if it hadn’t been for Kreia. 

And how much more confusing did that make everything? A hero, a villain--in the end, she was just like Revan. 

It’s not something that can be understood.

“I haven’t been back since it was bombed,” Bastila says, her voice very quiet. 

And Meetra can’t breathe. “It was Malak, right? The one who destroyed it?” 

Bastila nods.

It doesn’t make her want to see him any more than she did before. She doesn’t know how to confront the man who made a mockery of who he used to be, the one who destroyed what he once loved. 

“What’s he like, then?” Meetra asks, because if she continues that line of thought, she’ll talk herself out of going entirely. “Malak--you said he’s changed.”

They turn down a darker corridor, where the lights sink low and the wide, wide windows replace durasteel walls. Bastila gestures to a bench where they sit down, and both of them look out into the expanse of space, quiet for a long time until Bastila says, “Truthfully, I wasn’t sure about him. Not at first. He...turned me to the dark side, and I was afraid of what influence he might still hold over me.” 

When she doesn’t say anything else, Meetra shifts her gaze over to Bastila, watching the shadows slip over her profile. “That’s understandable.” 

“I let them go to Kashyyyk--I went back to the Council--and then I didn’t see him again until after Revan left. He was under house arrest at the Enclave, just until the Council could figure out what to do with him. He was angry but resigned, and I can’t blame him for that. I started visiting daily, and at first he wouldn’t talk, but eventually he began to open up.” 

“About what?”

Bastila lifts her shoulder, finally glancing at Meetra. “Life, I suppose. He had a lot of regrets, a lot of things he said he wished he’d done differently. I could tell that he missed Revan, but he wouldn’t talk about her. He claimed he didn’t know where she went. I’m not sure I believe him.” 

But-- “What would he gain from not telling anyone?” 

“I’ve asked myself the same question these past five years,” Bastila says. “Perhaps he thinks he’s protecting her.”

That’s not good enough, that doesn’t sound _ right_, but Meetra supposes she’ll find out for herself soon enough, won’t she? 

Bastila clears her throat. “There’s something else you should know. In the aftermath of the Star Forge, he lost his connection to the Force.” 

Meetra can’t help but press her lips together. “Well, isn’t that something.” 

“I know this must be hard for you, but surely you can see why we believe you’re the only one he’d speak to.” 

Meetra just turns her he head away. “How did he end up on Taanab?” 

“We all knew there was nowhere else for him to go. We couldn’t keep him at the Enclave forever, and he was too recognizable to stay on Coruscant. It was a few years ago, right when things truly began to fall apart, that he requested to relocate to Taanab. We said yes.” 

“Just like that?” 

“What else could we do?” Bastila asks. “He was no longer considered a threat, and he had a safe place to go, so we let him.” 

“Have you heard from him since?” 

“Only after Katarr.” 

Meetra looks over to see something different pass over Bastila’s face. She’s been out of touch for too long--there is pain here that she cannot understand. “So what makes you think he knows where Revan is?” 

“Because if not him, then who?” Bastila answers. “I can’t let myself believe that Revan’s out there without a single trail to follow. When I search my feelings, I know there’s a way to find her.” 

“Right,” Meetra says, and turns her attention back to the window. Beyond it, her eyes trace over the stars that sit close together, tiny point of light that, if you squint, blur into one. When she searches her own feelings, there’s nothing there regarding Revan. 

Maybe her and Bastila are just on opposite sides of wanting to find her. 

“I should talk to my friends,” she says. “They deserve to know what’s going on.” 

“Will you tell them the truth?” 

Meetra lifts a shoulder. “You shared a bond with Revan, how easy was it to lie to her?”

“It was difficult,” Bastila answers. “Necessary, but difficult.” 

And maybe this is necessary enough--Meetra knows she doesn’t want to go into it, but how could she keep such a thing from them? She’s already kept enough from Atton, who’s earnestly asked her for the truth.

“Who do you have a bond with?” Bastila asks. 

Meetra fights off a smile. “Um. All of them?”

“Five bonds?” Her voice goes up the slightest in pitch, but settles as she says, “That is...most unusual.” 

“Yeah, tell me about it.” 

“I have a ship waiting in Hangar J14, they can meet me there when they’re ready. You have my holofrequency, right?” 

“Yes,” Meetra confirms. “I’ll be in touch.” 

They both stand, and while there isn’t a closeness between them, Meetra can feel some thread of understanding. They share a look, one that answers what’s left unsaid, and Bastila parts with, “May the Force be with you.”

\--

Meetra makes her way back to the apartment, finds it empty, and takes a moment to sit on the end of the bed. She hasn’t stopped in so long, even during her exile, and she’s about pick up and start again. There’s nothing to pack because nothing was unpacked, and the apartment looks the same as it did this morning but it feels different now.

She’s been alone before. She can do this. 

Her gaze turns empty and blurs at the edges as she stares at the floor, and it takes her a long moment to message Atton to find out where he is. 

He sends her the name of a cafe that’s around the corner, and Meetra lets herself breathe and breathe and breathe, then she forces herself to get up and go find him. She moves like a dream, like nothing is real, because nothing has felt real in some time. Maybe after Onderon was the last of it, partying with the Mandalorians on Dxun, drinking by the fire, kissing Atton in the woods. It was before Dantooine, before Atris and the _ Ravager _ and returning to Malachor V. 

Meetra knows she hasn’t given herself the chance to get over it, but she’s always moved on without looking back. 

She lets her thoughts unravel as she finds her way to the right cafe. She lingers in the entrance, and her eyes land on Atton sitting at a table in the back. His shorter hair still flops over his eyes as he sips at a cup of coffee, and she can’t help but feel amused by it. 

It takes a moment, but he catches her watching him, and the corners of his lips twitch into a small smile. The warmth of affection nearly makes her forget everything else entirely. 

Meetra maneuvers through the cafe to sit down across from him, and Atton slides the pastry that was in front of him over to her, saying, “You have to try this.” 

Sometimes it feels like conversations never start or end with Atton, they always just pick up somewhere in the middle. Meetra raises a brow at him but tears off a piece. The pastry is coated in icing, still warm, and tastes of cinnamon. She closes her eyes for a half-moment as she takes in the flavor--a little too sweet but still very, very good. 

“Stars, I feel like I haven’t eaten anything in ages.” 

“Because you haven’t,” Atton says. “Unless you count that ration bar you crammed in your mouth on the way to Malachor.” 

Meetra grimaces at the memory. “I’d be all too happy if I never had to eat another one again.” 

“I think that can be arranged,” he says, and grins. “You look good.”

“Do I?” she asks, genuinely. After her conversation with Carth and Bastila she feels wrung out, so she imagines her appearance must reflect that. “I feel like I could sleep for a year.” 

“But then who would the galaxy turn to for all its problems?” Atton asks, and Meetra just rolls her eyes. “We gotta get out of here before someone else needs your help.” 

A little too late for that. Bitterness threatens to creep up her throat, so she swallows it back. “What do you think I’ve been training you guys for? I need a break.” 

“Exactly. I was thinking Boranda first, we could hit the beach for a while before heading back to Narsh. Lay low for a bit, spend all our creds; it’ll be a good time.”

“You’ve got this all figured out, hm?” She presses her lips together for a moment, then adds, “We should talk about it.” 

He raises a brow. Glances away. “Can’t we put it off just a little longer?” 

“I wish we could,” she answers, and she can’t tell him how much she means that. “Do you know where the others are?” 

“Bao’s working on a new remote, I think. No idea where Visas and Mira are. I talked to Mical for about thirty seconds before I realized that I don’t have to anymore, so he’s MIA as well.” 

“Glad I have you on top of things,” she says as she picks off another piece of the pastry. “And be nice.” 

“I can be nice,” Atton defends.

“Yeah, to me.”

“Well who else is there?” he asks, and there’s still a touch of a grin on his face. “Speaking of: did you want a coffee or something?”

“I’m all set,” she says. “I’m serious though, we need to talk.” 

He leans back in his seat. “Fine. How bad is it?” 

“What?” she asks, caught off guard.

“Oh come on, it’s all over you. I saw it the second you came in here. Considering the fact that you just met with Onasi, it didn’t take long to put two and two together.” 

“You’re smarter than you look, Ace.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” he says with that signature smirk, but it only takes a second for it to slip off his features. “So what’s up?”

She blows out a breath, and her hands idly pick at the pastry still in front of her. “The Admiral asked me to do a favor for him.” 

“What’s the favor?” 

“Nothing dangerous.” 

“Nothing dangerous,” he scoffs. “I hate to say it, Sweets, but you have a knack for finding danger.” 

She thinks of Malak, of what she’s heard about Taanab, and the things she would avoid if she was just selfish enough. “Not this time, I don’t think.”

Atton raises a brow. 

“We have a...mutual friend,” she continues, wondering how she can sound confident with Atton when she isn’t confident in herself. “The Admiral wants me to speak to him, he believes he knows where Revan is.” 

“So what happens if he does?” 

She breathes in, steady, and breathes out a shaken breath. “He doesn’t.” 

Atton’s quiet for a moment, and though his energy blurs into something indecipherable, his features soften as he leans back in his seat. His fingers loosely wrap around the mug’s handle, and he asks, “How can you be sure?”

“I just--am,” she says, but the words are flat and they’re not enough. Her eyes glance around the crowded cafe. This isn’t the place to talk about it. It just takes the return of her gaze to Atton for him to understand, and he nods before they wordlessly get up and head towards the exit. He walks in front of her, but he reaches back and his open hand finds hers, tangling their fingers together.

And Meetra’s not used to this--casual affection, leaving herself open like this. Some part of her will always be waiting for the Council to find her, tell her she’s wrong, and punish her. They’ve done it to her once before, twice now, and at this point she think she could handle it again for Atton’s sake. 

Perhaps for hers as well. 

They walk quietly through the busier section of the station until they turn down an empty corridor. About halfway down, Atton stops and leans back against the wall, and Meetra faces him, her arms crossed in front of her. 

She sighs. “It’s Malak.”

“What about him?” Atton asks, and his eyes narrow in confusion.

“He’s alive,” she says in a rush, needing to just get the words out there and be done with them. “He’s been living on Taanab since the end of the war, and the Admiral asked me to go see him.” 

She watches for a reaction, but there’s nothing there. Atton’s eyes stay on hers and he blinks and blinks but nothing else gives him away until he asks, “Malak’s alive?” 

It’s the same question she’d asked yesterday. 

She nods. 

“Kriff.” He turns his head away, and this time she feels some anger ebbing between them. She understands it, of course she understands it, but it doesn’t make it any easier to bear. “How did that happen?” 

Meetra explains it to him the best she can. That Revan saved Malak’s life, hid him away, and gave him back over to the Republic when she left. That they didn’t know what to do with him, they let him leave, and now she’s the only one left to talk to him.

“And she didn’t remember him?” he asks. 

Meetra shakes her head. “I don’t think so.” 

“But you’re sure that he doesn’t know where she went.” 

“You knew them, right?” she asks. They’ve talked about it but they haven’t talked about it, and she knows that Atton has his own story with them, but it’s as buried as the rest of his past. His gaze lowers and for the first time, Meetra wants to ask what it was like for him, but what comes out instead is, “You must’ve witnessed their...relationship.” 

“Yeah,” he says as his gaze returns to hers, and his brows dip down. “Probably not the same way you did.” 

“But you know they were together, right?” 

“Is that what that was?” 

“All I’m saying is,” she starts, and takes a breath. “If Malak really has changed, if he’s anything like who he was before the war, and if he has any inkling of where Revan went, then there’s no chance that he’d keep that to himself, let alone stick around for five years without her.” 

For all the damage their relationship did, at least it made them predictable.

“I guess,” Atton says.

“If I left and you knew where I was going, would you come after me?”

“You _ are _ leaving,” Atton says. “And I know where you’re going.” 

“Okay, not my best example,” she says, exhaling around something of a smile. “But it’s Revan and Malak, you know? They don’t stay apart.” 

Atton presses his lips together, his shoulders relax, and his eyes are still fixed sharply on hers. “I get that, but why do you have to go alone?” 

“I just--” How does she say this? “I don’t want to be who I was then. Not now. Not in front of you.” 

His expression softens at that. “That bad, huh?” 

“Would you want to bring me home to Alderaan?” 

It’s a cheap shot but he takes it in stride. “What, and listen to Pops tell you about how his good for nothing son died a war hero? Sounds like a great time to me.”

“That’s not funny.”

“It’s a little funny,” he says with a wry smile, but it falls and he sighs. “Come on, who’s gonna watch your back, Surik?” 

“I’ll take T3 with me.” 

“Blasted droid gets all the fun.” 

“Oh yeah, I’m sure it’ll be a party,” she says, turning her head back towards the main corridor. All kinds of people pass in a stuttered motion, unaware of her and Atton at the end of this hall. She blinks at them for a moment before turning back to him. “Come on, we should go talk to the others.” 

\--

They gather in Atton and Meetra’s apartment, and Meetra stands near the foot of the bed, facing Mical, Visas, Bao-Dur, Mira, and Atton as she explains the situation to them. 

She doesn’t mention Malak, doesn’t say anything about Revan, but she tells them that she’s doing a favor for the Admiral, and that she’ll meet them on Dantooine as soon as she’s done. They accept it better than Atton did, but she wasn’t expecting them not to. 

Mical is the only one who shoots her a concerned look, but it gives way to the interest that passes over him when she mentions that Bastila will be the one to accompany them. Surprisingly enough, Visas perks up at that as well.

Meetra’s eyes stay away from Atton, who stands at the back of the group with his arms crossed as he leans against the wall. Their bond feels distant, closed off, but she doesn’t blame him for that. How could she? They’re in a situation that neither of them have been in before, and it isn’t any easier to navigate than the previous eight months. 

“I think Dantooine would be our wisest course,” Visas offers. “It’s familiar ground to us all, and I sense that there is still much to learn from that place.” 

“Yeah, what she said,” Mira adds. 

But Bao shifts in his seat, his eyes dropping to the table before lifting to Meetra again. His skin glows cold blue with the whirring light of his arm, and it ghosts over the small smile that finds his lips. “I’m afraid I won’t be joining you--not right away, at least.”

“Is everything alright?”

He smiles. “Perfectly fine. I’m following your example, General. After Malachor, I feel that it’s finally time I return to Iridonia. As soon as I’m finished, I will meet you on Dantooine as well.” 

“Of course,” Meetra says, and allows herself to meet his smile. She looks between them all, and feels that same swell of pride she’d felt on the _ Hawk_. They’ve all been broken, beaten down, and pulled apart, but somehow they all found each other, and the bond will carry on even when she’s far away from them. 

“I’ll see you all soon, then,” she continues, ignoring the ache that settles in her stomach. She walks them to the door, but Mical hesitates behind the rest. 

“Be careful,” he murmurs, and as she looks up into those blue eyes, a strand of long blonde hair falls loose from where he tucked it behind his ear. “I will not ask you what your task is, but I sense it is greater than it appears.” 

And the weight that sits in her stomach only feels heavier. “Thank you.” 

Mical doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t move, either. She senses the conflict in him, and raises a hand to squeeze his. 

“I trust you,” she says. “Please look out for them, they’ll need you.” 

“Not as much as we all need you,” he returns. 

Meetra just presses her lips together, and lets go. “Then I’ll be sure to come back as quickly as I can.” 

He nods, and though it takes a long moment, he turns to go. Meetra watches his retreating form as he jogs to catch up with the others. Mira looks to him and gives him a small punch in the shoulder, and she can see the smile that turns up one corner of his lips as he looks back at her. 

They’ll be okay without her. 

The door closes and she turns back to the apartment, to Atton who’s taken a seat at the end of the bed. He looks up at the sound of her coming closer, and there isn’t anything harsh on his features, but the tension is palpable in the room. 

Still, he reaches his arm out and Meetra steps into it. He pulls her to him and she pulls him to her. It’s much like this morning, with him sitting in front of her and her leaning down to kiss his cheeks, his jaw, his lips. 

“This better not be goodbye,” he mumbles, and Meetra thinks about Revan. They all know she left without saying goodbye--that one day she was on Coruscant and the next she was gone. 

Five years. Meetra wants to believe that she wouldn’t do that to them. 

“You gonna miss me?” she asks. 

“Believe it or not I can make it a few days without you,” he answers. “I’ve done it before.”

She thinks back to Dxun, when he stayed behind to work on the ship. Between the ghosts of the past, the Mandalorians, and his absence, she’d been fully distracted. “The first time doesn't count.”

“And why not?” 

“Because I hadn’t kissed you yet,” she says against his skin. Her hands rest at the nape of his neck, fingertips brushing over the ends of his hair. 

She feels his smile as he says, “Then the second time definitely counts.” 

“I suppose.” She actually tries not to think about Onderon, being separated from Atton, confronting Kavar again. All the fear, stress, and worry is still alive, still there, and even if he says he didn’t miss her, she missed him and it’s not a good feeling. 

Atton literally pulls her out of her thoughts as he drags her back onto the bed with him. They lay against the flat of it, side by side, and Meetra tucks her arm under her head as she watches him. 

“I don’t know how to feel about this,” she says, and to clarify: “I never imagined that I’d speak to Malak again.”

Because he was dead. He was dead and Meetra’s heart sank when she heard the news. Sitting in a run down cantina on some backwater planet, her eyes fixed on the holovision in the corner. It was small and the image kept blinking out, but the news was still the same: Darth Malak had been defeated at the hands of Revan. 

The ache of losing him was met only by the relief that passed over her. 

“What do you think he’ll say?” Atton asks. 

She takes a long breath as she lets herself think about it. “I don’t know. It ended badly enough that I have to wonder if he’ll be angry when he sees me.” 

Atton’s quiet for a moment, but then, “Are _ you _ angry?” 

And she has to grin--something old, something defeated. “Yeah, I think I am.” 

His gaze drops to the bed cover beneath them, allowing a rare moment of silence to pass as they stay there together, stay close to each other. She doesn’t know what’s going on in his mind, won’t allow herself to go there. She knows what he was and he knows what he was, and if there was ever a time to run, to pick up and get away because everything is uncertain--

Why wouldn’t it be now? 

“I should go,” she murmurs after a while.

“No,” he mumbles back, and moves forward until he’s fully tucked into her space. “You really shouldn’t.” 

Her arm automatically reaches around him, resting her hand at the base of his neck. She leans down to press her lips to the top of his head, and she doesn’t know what to say. Her head tells her that it’s fine, that everything will go according to plan, and she’ll be back with him on Dantooine in just a few days time. 

Her heart says something else entirely. 

“Will you walk me to the ship?” she asks, and she knows immediately that it’s the wrong question. She knows she should leave him here because it only gets harder after this, and it’s already taking all her strength to make herself go. 

She asks it anyway. 

“Yeah,” he says, and when he looks up, there’s a certain sense of stoicism in his gray eyes. Meetra sweeps a hand down over his cheek, watching the fan of his lashes as he blinks. The light is too bright in the room--it glares over the higher points of his face and leaves the rest in shadow. 

She looks at him, and sometimes all it takes is just looking. She looks at him, at the way his eyes watch hers, the way his hair spreads out against the bed; her eyes trace over the fullness of his bottom lip, and she almost smiles at how he pretends not to care about his appearance but keeps his face meticulously clean shaven. 

Meetra looks at him, and sometimes all it takes is the looking. She looks at him and she honestly, truly, thinks that she might love him. 

“Okay,” she says, and looks away. She sits up, feeling a little lightheaded for a moment, and when it clears she feels his weight leave the bed. 

The truth is they could probably use some space, but there’s no time for space. Meetra cleans up the room, changes her robes, and her and Atton walk out of the apartment together, bags slung over their shoulders. 

They walk once again through the corridors of Citadel Station, and all the while they talk about things that are easier than what’s in front of them. Facing the past, reliving it...it’s not what she asked for but it’s what she keeps getting, and if she can put the memories of Revan and Malak behind her, then maybe it’ll be done, once and for all. 

The _ Ebon Hawk _ waits for her, refueled and ready to go. Her stomach tightens at the sight of it, knowing what this means, and she stops herself from reaching for Atton’s hand only by the thought of having to let go again. 

She hears him take a deep breath as their steps slow to a stop, and when she turns to face him, he pulls her into his arms. 

And it’s like--what if this is it? What if this is the start to a new journey, and everything she’s gone through is just another story to tell? It might not be enough to intend to return if it’s not what’s in store for her, and she’d like to think that she has a choice, but the very fact that she’s leaving at all tells her otherwise.

“Tell me not to go,” she murmurs against his shoulder, eyes shut tight against the echoed light of the hangar. 

And--because Atton is Atton, he answers, “Don’t go.” 

“Tell me it’s a waste of time.” 

“It’s a waste of time,” he says, and tightens his grip. “Is this helping?” 

“No.” She bites down on a defeated grin as she pulls back to look him in the eyes. Her mind draws back to that moment he taught her to use pazaak to guard her thoughts, that one moment that made her think that maybe something could happen here, after all. 

_ You’ll be right here with me, playing pazaak, where they can’t reach you. _

“Trust me, I’d rather stay,” she says, and withdraws her gaze for a moment before returning it to him. “But I have to listen to the Force.” 

He shakes his head. “So it’s the Force that’s telling you to go alone?” 

“No, but--” She sighs. “I promise I’ll be fine.”

“What if I’m not?” he asks, and for the briefest moment one of his walls slips. It’s just a glimpse, just a fraction, but for that second she feels the conflicting emotions that run through him. Fear sits at the forefront of it all, and Meetra frowns.

“What do you mean?” she asks in return, but he shakes his head again. 

“Dantooine,” he starts. “Just--thinking about meditating with Mira. I don’t know if I’ll survive it.”

“Atton.”

“It’s okay,” he continues, and takes a step back. “Forget I said anything.” 

And it’s always been hard to get him to open up, but right now Meetra can’t let it go like he wants her to. She takes the step to close the distance between them and clutches her bag a little tighter in her hand. “I don’t want to leave like this.” 

“Well I don’t want you to leave at all,” he says back. “And I think you’re stupid for going alone, especially when Revan and Malak are involved--two people who have always been bad for you.” 

She turns her head away. “I know.” 

“What?”

“You’re right,” she says, and when she meets his eyes again, there’s something different there. Something softer. “It _ is _ stupid, but I still need to do it.” 

“Take me with you,” he says. “I promise, we can go to Alderaan straight after. I’m sure a Rand family reunion won’t be as bad as Malak, but it’s nearly there.” 

She rolls her eyes. “I think I’d like to meet whoever came up with the idea for you.” 

“Yeah, that can’t be a good thing.” 

“Guess we’ll never know, Ace.” 

A smile pulls at his lips. “Come on, you need a pilot.” 

“I need someone who’s on my side,” she says. 

She feels his hand brush against hers before their fingers tangle together, and he moves just a step closer. “Is that a yes?” 

Meetra hesitates for a second as she thinks about it, and the truth is she can see it going both ways. In an ideal scenario, she’d go alone, Malak wouldn’t be angry with her but he wouldn’t have anything for her either, and she could move on and leave it behind. 

She also knows that ideal scenarios very rarely happen, and she can’t deny that the idea of having Atton by her side is comforting in a way that might be necessary. 

“Yeah,” she says, and though the word comes out short and uncertain, she means it. “Come on flyboy, we have a past to confront.” 

\--

It takes three days to travel to Taanab. 

It’s fun, for the most part. Once Meetra tells the others that Atton’s coming with her, she tries to put everything else out of her mind. She lets herself forget about Malak, about their destination and whatever that might mean. Her and Atton take advantage of having the ship to themselves, and aside from the strange emptiness of it, it feels relatively normal. 

In the last moments of their trip they sit in the cockpit, talking aimlessly while the mostly blue planet looms closer and closer. Meetra lets her eyes unfocus, blurring the shape of it into something undefined. The color shifts into areas of dark and light, like a wave rolling over them, and beside her Atton’s telling a story about a Rodian he used to know.

It’s harder, looking at Taanab, to forget that Malak’s there. The last time she saw him was on the _ Leviathan_. She hardly remembers it now, the time following Malachor was a sickening haze of events that passed too quickly. She just remembers the open anger between them and the ugly, seething Force that lived within him. The worst of their arguments had already happened, all that was left was goodbye. 

“And you’re not listening, are you?” she hears Atton say, and she turns to look at him. The side of his face is lined in echoed light from the planet, and there’s something sympathetic about his expression. 

“Sorry--guess I’m a bit distracted,” she says, sitting up from where she was slumped in her seat. 

“Starting to feel real yet?” 

“Yeah,” she answers, her voice hollow. “Is it too late to turn around?” 

“Technically no, but we’ve come this far.” 

She hums a short sound, turning her gaze towards the planet again, and she can feel her lips curve downwards. They have the coordinates for the town Malak relocated to--the Jedi wouldn’t let him leave without knowing exactly where he went--so it’s just a matter of landing and asking around. 

The problem isn’t that Meetra thinks it’ll be hard to find him, it’s that it’ll be easy. 

“After everything we’ve just gone through, you’d think I’d be ready for anything, but...I don’t know. Am I really so screwed up that I have to keep confronting the past like this? How much healing does one person need?” 

“I don’t know,” Atton says absently, and Meetra’s brow twitches when she realizes he’s genuinely considering the question. “It’s supposed to be good for you, right?”

“Yeah, so I hear,” she replies. “It’s exhausting, though.” 

“You know, you could always try my method.” 

She raises a brow. “What--change my name and kriff off to Nar Shaddaa? Don’t tempt me.” 

“It doesn’t work as well as you’d think,” he says, “but the offer is always on the table.” 

She grins, and for a moment allows herself to imagine her and Atton getting lost in a crowd on Nar Shaddaa. The dark cover of the planet, the neon lights that glow too bright, the anonymity. She’s spent too much time living something similar, but the temptation to go back isn't as easy to ignore with Taanab literally sitting right in front of her. 

“Do you think he’ll remember you?” she asks. 

“Probably,” Atton answers, and when she looks over at him, he has his pazaak deck in his hands, shuffling through the cards like she’s seen him do countless times. “Or maybe not. I don’t know if I made that much of an impression on him--we never really spoke or anything.” 

“What about Revan?” 

His hands pause for a short second before continuing. “I’m sure she’d have some words for me. Not any good ones, that’s for certain.” 

“Bastila said she’s different now.”

“Yeah, well...” he trails off. “The hell does she know.”

Meetra can’t help the rush of laughter that escapes from her lips, and Atton’s own mouth curls into a smile as well. She shakes her head, glancing back at the planet, and says, “This is ridiculous.” 

“Has anything ever been normal with us?” 

“No,” she answers. “I don’t know why I keep expecting it to be.” 

“It’s okay,” he says in a shocking moment of positivity. “You’ll be okay, and if you’re not, we can still go to Nar Shaddaa and blow all our credits.” 

“Sounds like a deal,” she says, and offers him a smile. “Thank you.” 

She catches sight of his grin as he turns back to the controls. “No sweat, Surik.” 

\--

The _ Ebon Hawk _ touches down in a small spaceport just outside of Pandath. It’s only marginally bigger than Khoonda, and Meetra feels like she’s so anxious that she’s ended up on the other side of it. She’s standing across from her fears, hurts, and doubts, and she can see them so clearly, but she doesn’t know how to shake them off. 

At least there’s an actual goal, here. There’s a task she can carry out instead of listening to the vague worry that’s been sitting in her chest these past few days. She feels sharper, more focused, as her and Atton leave the _ Hawk_, stepping down the ramp into the spaceport. 

They draw curious glances from those surrounding the area, and a woman approaches them for their landing fee. They glean some information from her--where the cantina is, mostly--and the two of them walk into town, leaving T3 to watch over the ship. 

The buildings are small and sit close together, and though it’s evening, she can see shapes of mountains looming in the west. The streetlamps cast a soft glow, shades of yellow orange, yellow gold that whisper over everything. It might be nice, but something about it doesn’t feel right. It feels like Revan--that calm, warm exterior, and the raging cold inside; the tragedy that always sits just under the surface. 

No wonder Malak came back here. 

They end up at the cantina, and it’s what Meetra expected: cramped but relatively quiet. Her and Atton find a table close to the back, and she keeps glancing over her shoulder, looking over the crowd just in case Malak’s here. 

He’s not, but the possibility has her fingertips tapping anxious patterns across the top of her thigh. 

Atton watches her with thinly veiled concern, and he takes a sip of his drink before he asks, “So what’s the plan, exactly?” 

They probably should’ve discussed this earlier. 

“Wait until Malak comes in, or until I’m ready to ask someone where he is.” 

Atton’s gaze lands somewhere beyond her shoulder, scanning the room before saying, “You know, I’m not sure which one’s more likely.” 

Neither event happens while they’re there, but Meetra slows down, feeling the alcohol settle her nerves. They talk but they don't really, because it’s hard to focus on a conversation with the mission looming over them like this. 

And typically it wouldn’t be, but this one’s so personal that it’s hard to feel like anything other than a hunted animal, constantly looking over her shoulder, expecting the worst. 

“Okay,” she says finally, downing the last of her drink. “I’m gonna talk to the bartender.” 

“You’ve got this,” Atton says. “Let me know if you need backup.” 

She shoots him a grateful smile before standing up, smoothing out her robes and stepping towards the bar. She feels several pairs of eyes on her as she weaves through the tables, and she tries to form the sentence in her head. _ I’m looking for someone_, she could start, _ Tall. Tattooed. He has a metal jaw_. 

“What do you need?” the bartender asks, and it’s only then that Meetra realizes she’s stopped a short distance away from him. She meets his gaze, but the thought of saying the words aloud makes her feel sick to her stomach, and all she does is shake her head absently as she turns and heads out the door.

The cool night air washes over her, lets her breathe for a second but she doesn’t stop walking. Not even when she hears Atton jogging to catch up with her as she heads back towards the ship. 

“So that didn’t work,” he says, and Meetra just shakes her head again. 

“This is stupid,” she answers, her voice harsh. “Carth and Bastila are the ones who want to find her, not me. They don’t get it and they never will, and I don’t know why I agreed to this.” 

Before Atton can say anything to that, she continues, “And it’s not fair that Revan and Malak both seemingly came back from the dead. Why do they get second chances and I get put through the wringer again and again? They still get to do whatever they want while I’m the one left to be responsible. Revan saved Malak’s life and then disappeared completely, and yet it’s up to me to sort it out? I hate that, I don’t want to do this.”

“Okay,” Atton says, and she can tell from his tone that he’s out of his depth. Meetra wouldn’t know what to do with herself right now, so she can’t blame him for that. “Let’s get out of here, then.” 

She’s quiet for a long, long moment, letting the thought run its course. They could leave. Simple as that. They could pack up the ship, get out of here, and be done with it. But leaving would mean giving up. Leaving would mean going back on her word, and Meetra knows she can’t do that. Not now, not after everything else. 

Her faith in herself has gotten her this far. Her faith in the Force will get her further.

“No, I made a promise,” she says, and she hates that more than she hates being here. Her voice is quiet, resigned as she continues, “I’ll try again tomorrow.” 

Atton reaches for her hand and she’s grateful for it. Right now, she’s grateful that he’s here, that he asked to come with her. “You know what? I noticed a lot of woods around here, we could set up some targets and shoot the hell out of them. It might make you feel better.” 

“That’s not a half-bad idea,” she says, and allows herself to take a breath. “I’m sorry to put you through all this.” 

“I’m the one who invited myself, remember?” 

“Yeah. That doesn’t make it any better.”

“Hey, don’t worry about it. I’m officially adding Alderaan to the agenda.” 

“If it’s going to feel like this, I’d rather spare you from--”

Her words choke off as she looks ahead of them. In the opening of the spaceport stands a tall figure. His back is to them as he faces the _ Ebon Hawk_, arms loose at his sides. Meetra’s eyes trace over the familiar tattoos that come down the back of his head, and her heart drops into her stomach as realization washes over her. 

Her hand falls from Atton’s as her steps stutter forward. Malak must hear her, because he turns, and for a moment everything stills. In the soft lighting of the spaceport his eyes look so dark, and there’s a heaviness in his expression that turns to confusion as he takes her in. 

And where she was expecting to see smooth metal encase his jaw, there’s a flesh and bone chin, full lips--exactly what he was before. She’d think it was a ghost, a vision of the past just like in the cave, but there’s a cold, mechanical edge to his voice as he says, “Meetra?” 

\--

\--

\--

Half a galaxy away, a shaking hand loosens itself from where it was tucked into a fist. These hands always shake now, but the end is in sight and there’s relief in the thought. One breath out, long and slow and nearly steady--grab the old familiar datapad, the one that’s been read and reread again and again and again.

Five years worth of rereading. It still blinks on, slower these days. Scroll down to find the right words.

_ The biggest problem at that time was that the Council didn’t want the details of Kae’s exile to be public knowledge. I was told only because we were training together, but we weren’t allowed to tell anyone else. It distanced you from your friends, especially Talvon. He couldn’t understand why you’d keep something from him, and he blamed me for that. He blamed me for a lot of things. I know you don’t remember Talvon right now, but you two were close and I came between you in a big way. _

_ I wish I could say that I feel guilty about that, but I don’t. I never will. I’ve always been selfish with your attention, and I always will be. When it comes down to it, I think you’re the only person I’ve ever cared about. _

_ That sounds nice, doesn’t it? There was one time, at the height of our destruction, that I told you I regret ever knowing you, so. _

_ I guess the truth is, we can betray just about anyone in this life, including ourselves. _

Breathe deep. Read it again. 

_ We can betray just about anyone in this life, including ourselves. _

_ Including ourselves. _

_ Including ourselves. _

_ Including ourselves. _


	4. Chapter 4

There are two versions of Malak in Meetra’s head. 

The first was strong. Dependable. He could make you laugh until your sides ached, watching with that amused grin of his as he lead conversations. He stood out in a crowd--he couldn’t help it--but even if it wasn’t for his height or his tattoos, his quiet confidence would still stand alone. He’d still be the person you’d trust to know what’s going on, to tell you what to do. 

He was a good friend. 

He’d check in. He cared. He was patient, could teach you anything. Meetra would talk to him for hours after her lessons, and time passed like it was nothing at all. They’d sit in the sun’s reflection through those wide windows of the Coruscant Enclave, light shifting over them, passing through them in waves of gold that eventually faded into dusk. 

Then came the second version of Malak.

He became violent. Devoted. He couldn’t see things clearly because he didn’t want to see things clearly, and when he stepped into Revan’s shadow, he let himself disappear completely. Something else emerged. He fell because he wouldn’t choose to stand on his own. 

He lost his gentleness, his kindness. His words became sharper, his blue eyes began to fade. The battlefield was no longer a battlefield--it became a place to prove that the Jedi were wrong about him and Revan. About the Mandalorians. About everything.

At the time Meetra understood it, at the time she might’ve agreed with it, but in hindsight it’s easier to see how the darkness called to Revan and Malak long before they became Sith. 

In hindsight, she thinks their fall might’ve been the only thing to save her from her own. 

\--

And now? Well, who knows who Malak is now...

\--

“Meetra?” 

Her steps carry her closer to him, and in the darkening night her eyes can’t stop moving over him. His height, his breadth, the way he watches her like she’s a ghost come to life--and maybe she is--but the air feels colder now and she has to tip her head back to see his face. Up close, the mask isn’t as perfect as it first seemed; she can see the thin line where the prosthesis begins and ends, what’s real and what isn’t. 

“Malak,” she breathes. Her eyes blink heavily, and a longing for the past washes over her so intense that she can’t help the soft gasp that escapes her mouth. Too much has happened between them. She’s pushed it all down and hidden it away, and now eight years of being apart is over. It takes just a moment for everything to change. 

“I thought you were dead” he says, and his voice is all wrong. There’s something jagged and mechanical about it instead of that smooth, soft tone that always betrayed his intimidating appearance.

“Funny,” she returns, “I thought _ you _were dead.” 

“A lot of people do,” he says, and his lips pull up at one corner as he takes her in. “You look good, Mee.” 

Meetra’s eyes close for a half-second too long, and she wants to turns away because she can’t do this. For all her anxiety, for all her anger, hearing him call her that familiar nickname again turns her into that starstruck kid she was when she first met him.

She’s saved from saying anything only by the way Malak’s expression shifts as he looks over her shoulder and the sound of Atton’s footsteps comes closer. Malak’s brows pull down as he regards him, and disbelief sits openly on his features as he says, “Jaq?” 

“Atton,” he replies, and Meetra looks over to see him with his hands shoved in his pockets, a smooth smirk covering the nerves that she can feel through their bond. “I ditched Jaq right around the time I ditched the Sith.”

“You--” Malak starts, but his words break off as his gaze returns to Meetra. “Is she here?” 

The hope in his voice rings empty in the spaceport, and Meetra glances at Revan’s ship behind him as Atton murmurs, “Guess that answers our question.”

She falters for a half second as the realization that it’s _ always going to be about Revan _ hits her all over again. The anger she’s harbored for years knew this, but seeing Malak again...she forgot. She almost thought it would be different. 

Oh, her heart lurches in her chest. Why does she always want it to be different with him? 

“You don’t know where she is,” she states, because she knew that before, but she needs to be certain. 

Malak’s features, both real and fake, fall as he understands. He takes a half step back, turning his head to look at the _ Ebon Hawk_, and stays like that for a moment before his shoulders drop and he says, “No, of course I don’t.” 

“You’re sure?” 

“You know I wouldn’t be here if I did,” he says, and something guarded comes over him. “How did you get her ship?” 

Carth asked the same question back on Telos, but it sounded a lot less accusatory coming from him. 

“We found it,” she answers, something equally guarded returning to her. Whatever softness that threatened to spill out dissipates as she considers how much information she wants to tell him. “It’s kind of a long story.”

Atton shifts his weight beside her--she’d assume discomfort, but she knows he knows better than to give himself away. “‘Found’ is a loose term for it,” he says. “It was more of a last resort, really. We didn’t have many options at the time.” 

Malak’s eyes narrow on Atton, but he lingers only for a moment before turning to look at the ship again. Meetra wants to know what he’s thinking but she won’t ask--she wants to know a lot of things, but she wouldn’t dare to ask. 

“I think I’d like to hear it,” Malak finally says, looking back to her. “I have time for a long story, if you do.” 

“I--” Meetra falters, knowing that this is a choice she has to make. She could say no, she could leave, say that she tried, and no one would fault her for that. Malak doesn’t know where Revan is, and that’s all she came for, right? At the end of the day, there’s nothing else for her here, and this is the choice she needs to make: 

If she’s going to continue to ignore the past, or let it back in. 

_ It isn’t over_, Kreia had said to her all those weary days ago. Did the woman’s final breath mean _ this? _ Did Kreia see Malak in her future, and if she did, is that what she wanted for Meetra?

Does Meetra still care about Kreia’s opinion?

_ It isn’t over_, repeats in her head, shining like a bright spot in the Force, and if her resolve was crumbling before, she feels it fall altogether. Her eyes find Atton’s, silently communicating her decision, and he nods. She looks back to Malak, and with a sigh she says, “Yeah, we have time.” 

The line of Malak’s shoulders softens slightly as he gestures to the right. “Come on, I have a place where we can talk privately.” 

“This way,” he murmurs, and Meetra and Atton are left with the only option of falling into step beside him as he takes to an unfamiliar road. In the streetlight’s glow, most of the buildings look the same. Though they’re unevenly matched in height, they’re all comprised of brick, square windows, and wooden accents, each with a sense of belonging to the others. 

Meetra focuses on them to distract herself from the fact that she’s walking next to Malak, still only coming up to his chest. The silence between them stretches on so awkwardly that it feels impossible to break, which doesn’t happen until Malak finally clears his throat and asks, “Did Bastila send you?” 

“Yes,” she answers, and glances up and to her left; he watches the road ahead of them. 

“Is she okay?” 

“Yes,” she repeats, and drops her gaze to the cobblestones under her feet. “She had a vision.” 

This time she feels his eyes on her, but she won’t look at him. On her other side she can feel Atton do the same--she hasn’t told him this part.

“Of what?” Malak asks, and it’s impossible to ignore the concern that laces his mechanical voice. 

She shakes her head to herself, thinking back to her conversation with Carth and Bastila in that cold white office on Telos, and wonders if she would’ve agreed if she’d known then how it would feel. 

“She wouldn’t say much,” Meetra starts. “All she could tell me was that she saw Revan and I, and that Revan was in danger.” 

“What kind of danger?”

Meetra lifts a shoulder. “If I had to guess, I’d say imminent death.” 

It’s mean, but it makes her feel a little better and it makes Atton snort.

“You’re still mad,” Malak says. It’s not a question. 

“Yeah, Mal,” and she curses the nickname that slips off her tongue so easily. How much time needs to pass before she can let it go entirely? “I’m still mad. Is that so surprising?”

“No,” he answers, and both of them fall into silence again as they walk towards what Meetra assumes is the edge of town. Malak leads the way only by a half-step, and around them the distance between buildings increases. The air grows cooler the longer they’re out, and Meetra shrugs her hands into her sleeves to chase away the chill. 

All the while, she feels the temptation to reach out to Malak as she did once upon a time. Their bond used to be such an easy thing--she would always subconsciously find him, aware of his presence in the simplest moments when he was close by. Now supposedly there’s nothing where there used to be something, and Meetra won’t let herself try to reach for it. 

She doesn’t want to know what that feels like. 

“Why Taanab?” she asks to distract herself, keeping her voice low. The silence is louder here, and raising her voice even just above it seems like an intrusion. 

Beside her, Malak takes a deep breath and she dares a glance up at him. In the dark it’s hard to make out his features, but he sounds distant as he says, “It feels like home.”

“More than Dantooine?” 

Perhaps the suggestion is mean-spirited as well. They both know what Dantooine meant to him; how much he loved and longed to be there. They both know that he was the one who ordered it to be destroyed, and that the home he once knew will never be his home again, no matter what the Jedi did to restore it. 

It’s always about the blame, isn’t it? To look at an event and say, _ this was your fault_, and hope that bringing it up hurts them as much as they once hurt you. It’s not something Meetra’s proud of, but neither is it something she feels entirely in control of. She’s had eight years of conversations with him in her head, and it’s already so much different than she thought it would be. 

“I have an old friend here,” Malak says, ignoring the question entirely. “She asked me to come stay with her.” 

Meetra frowns. “Who?” 

“Her name’s Frela,” he answers, and the name sounds devastatingly familiar, but she can’t place it until he continues, “Revan stayed with her family when she lived here.” 

And as angry as Meetra is with him, it’s hard to hear the pain in his voice. Revan’s name sounds ragged in his mouth, and all Meetra can do is nod. She looks to Atton but he just makes a small grimace and lifts a shoulder.

Malak takes them down a road that leads into the fields that stretch to the east. It’s fully dark now, save for tall lamp posts that dot along the way. The warm orange glow pushes through the blueness of the night, stretching just far enough to reach the edges of the next one. 

Long moments pass with just the sound of their steps filling the air. Meetra reaches out to Atton through the Force while they walk in increasingly uncomfortable silence, letting his presence keep her steady as her thoughts unravel and waver and drift near the anger of the past.

He knows what it’s like. Not in the specific but in the feeling--knowing that you can run from something for only so long until it chases you down. 

She never thought she’d see Malak again, and yet...and yet...and yet...

He nods to a path that diverges from the main road, leading to a small house at the end. The lights are on, glowing warmly through the cracks of the closed curtains and leaking out onto the porch. Meetra feels like she’s seen it before--she knows she must’ve heard about it, but it’s familiar enough that she has to wonder. 

Malak jogs up the front steps first, entering through the faded red doorway before them. Atton and Meetra follow warily, and inside the light washes over them, revealing a short hallway, a staircase, and patterned green wallpaper on wood framed walls. The smell of warm food fills the air, and Meetra can hear someone whistling a tune from another room. 

It stops at the sound of their footsteps, and a moment later an older woman’s voice calls out, “Is that you, my dear?” 

“Who else would it be?” Malak calls back, taking off his coat and hanging it on the rack beside the door. Meetra and Atton share a look--both of them wondering what, exactly, they’ve just stepped into.

“Well I don’t know,” the woman's voice says, sounding closer until she’s in the hall with them. “You ran out of here in such a rush.” 

She stops when she notices Atton and Meetra behind him, and a smile quickly passes over her features. Her face is clearly tanned from the sun, lined and wrinkled from age. Her greying hair is pulled back, and she wears simple clothes that she wipes her hand on before offering it to Meetra.

“I’m Frela Averre,” she says. “Malak didn’t say he was bringing friends.” 

“Meetra,” she says back. “This is Atton. We’re just here to talk to Malak for a moment.” 

Frela shakes Atton’s hand after and grins at Meetra again. “You two stay as long as you want. Force knows he could use the company.” 

“You’re all the company I need,” Malak teases with a smile, and Meetra can’t help but stare at his shiny teeth in the light now. In fact, all of him looks different in the light. His blue eyes shine clearer than they did the last time she saw him, his tattoos have faded into a soft gray, and something about his expression doesn’t match his lighter tone.

Frela merely rolls her eyes at him, turning instead to Meetra and Atton. “Come into the kitchen, I have some food for you.” 

“Oh, you don’t have to--” Meetra starts as they walk down the hall, but her voice cuts off when Atton’s hand wraps around her wrist. 

“I don’t think either of us are in a position to turn down real food,” he says, keeping his voice low. “It smells good in here, Surik.” 

She shakes her head. “You’re so predictable.” 

When she looks back, Malak’s eyes are on their hands but his gaze flicks back up to meet Meetra’s. There’s no visible change in his features, but she can feel his curiosity even as he turns to follow Frela into the kitchen. Meetra contents herself with a sigh before following as well. The three of them crowd into the small kitchen behind Frela, who pulls a couple of bowls down from the wooden cabinet and begins to fill them with something Meeta doesn’t recognize. 

“Now, I wasn’t expecting guests,” she says as she sets the food on the table. “So I’m afraid there won’t be much for seconds. You say the word though, and I’ll whip up something else for you two.” 

“That’s very kind,” Meetra says.

“Well you look hungry.” 

“Starving,” Atton adds. “Thank you.” 

He makes a contented sound after his first bite, and she catches the amused grin on Frela’s face. Meetra wishes she could feel the same, but she’s too keenly aware that she’s in a strange kitchen on a strange planet, sitting next to someone who might as well be a stranger, but at one point knew her better than anyone else. 

The food does smell good, but Meetra’s stomach protests as she looks down at it. It’s taking everything in her just to breathe right now, so she doesn’t think she could eat if she tried. 

“I’ll get out of your hair,” Frela says as she rinses her hands in the sink. “Don’t hesitate to ask for anything.” 

They murmur their thanks and then it’s just the three of them in the kitchen. Time passes painfully slow as the only sounds that fill the room are the chrono on the wall and Atton’s spoon clinking gently against his bowl. Malak’s gaze is mostly fixed on the table, but she can feel him glance at her for a moment before turning down again. 

For what it’s worth, she doesn’t look at him either. Her thumb catches at the edge of the table, wooden and smooth except for one small chip that occupies most of her attention. Neither of them are willing to break the moment first.

Which is probably why it’s Atton who does it, saying, “I’m not gonna lie, this is weird as hell.”

Meetra only has a half-hearted smile for him before she pushes her bowl away from her; the smell is starting to make her feel sick. She knows, though, that nothing’s going to get accomplished like this. If she keeps looking at Malak as the person who hurt her, then there was no point in coming to this house. 

She has to look at this like any other mission, like she did before with the remnants of the Council. This could be Onderon, or Nar Shaddaa, or even the ill-fated Dantooine. She has to suck it up, offer what she has, and make some kind of progress. Otherwise she’d be better off just going back to the ship.

“We found the _ Ebon Hawk _ on Peragus,” she begins, still keeping her focus on the table. It’s something. “I didn’t know it was Revan’s ship until Admiral Onasi told me so last week.” 

_ And here you return, with her ship, without her. _

“Peragus is a mining colony, right?” Malak asks, and this time Meetra can’t help but look up. He meets her gaze at the exact moment, and though his expression is carefully neutral, she can feel the shift of concern leaking through. “Do you know how it ended up there?” 

“As far as we know, T3 brought it back from wherever Revan was,” she answers. Beside her, Atton lays his spoon down in his bowl, sitting back in his seat as he focuses on the conversation. 

“Wherever it had been, it’d been left for scrap,” he continues for her. “Thing was a piece of junk, we’re lucky I was able to get us out of there alive.” 

“Lucky isn’t the word I’d use.” 

He raises a brow. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Atton.” Her mouth parts in disbelief. “We blew up an asteroid field.” 

“The Sith blew it up,” he corrects. “Which makes it only partly our fault.”

“The Sith?” Malak asks. 

Meetra looks up into his now curious expression. “Yeah, they uh, came back for a bit, but they’re gone now.” 

Atton snorts. “That’s one way of putting it.” 

“Look, a lot has happened, Malak,” she says. “Maybe it’s best if you start with what you know, and then we can go from there.” 

He breathes out slow as he seems to consider it, raising a brow at her. “From when you left? Or when Revan came back?”

“When Revan came back,” she murmurs, ignoring the mess of thoughts that want to come alive again at the question.

“Okay,” he says, and leans back in his seat. He crosses his arms over his chest, and Meetra isn’t sure he’s even aware of the way he immediately closes himself off, but he does it and it takes him a long moment to start. “Revan confronted me at the end of the war. We were on the Star Forge, and she ended up saving my life instead of leaving me there to die.”

“That’s not what the stories say,” Meetra interrupts, remembering the news breaking that Malak had died on that secret station. “But if she didn’t remember anything, why would she save you?”

He gives her a look like it should be obvious, and answers, “You knew Revan. I had something she needed.” 

And right, that _ is _ obvious. 

“She _ wanted _ to remember?” 

“More than anything,” he says. “I was very cold towards her because of it. I thought it was cruel for her to expect me to explain what happened, as if it wasn’t the worst experience of my life.” 

Meetra watches him touch his chin, and for all intents and purposes she _ knows _ it got worse after she left, but now she has to wonder how bad it was. She won’t ask, but she’ll let herself wonder. “Did you end up telling her?”

She also knows how persistent Revan is. 

“No,” he answers, and the smile that falls over his lips is the saddest she’s seen. “Something I still regret. It’s why she left, in the end. She said she thought she could find a way to remember.” 

“And you have no idea how?”

He shakes his head, turning it away, and it doesn’t take a Force user to recognize the grief that passes over him. 

“No one disappears completely,” Atton says. “Believe me. She must’ve left some kind of clue.” 

Malak recovers whatever slip of control he had, answering, “Trust me, she didn’t. So for you to show up in her ship...”

“Yeah,” Meetra finishes. “I haven’t seen her since the day I left, Mal. Not even a trace of her. All that remains are stories and rumors, and you have to know that I don’t want to listen to those.” 

He looks at her for a long moment before turning away. “No, I don’t imagine you would.” 

Meetra doesn’t want to say anything to that. Maybe it’s another thing she shouldn’t have brought up, but the day she left Revan and Malak shamefully lives at the front of her memory more often than not. She looks to Atton instead, letting go of it as she takes comfort in the small smile that he gives her. Under the table, he presses his hand to her thigh, just for a moment, and it helps. It does. 

“So what happened after you got her ship?” Malak asks eventually. Distant. Distracted. “You said there were Sith?” 

Her answering sigh is long and weary. “Did I mention it was a long story?” 

“That’s why we’re here,” Malak says, and he clears his throat as he gets up. “I’ll put on the kettle.” 

Meetra mentally prepares herself, allowing her mind to trace the steps back to Peragus, and takes a deep breath. As the kettle makes low rolling noises on the stovetop, she tells him about waking up in that abandoned fuel depot. Some of the details get glossed over, (_you’re skipping the best part_, Atton says when she mentions she met him there), but she makes sure to tell Malak about the HK droids and Sion. 

“Someone actually picked up that project?” Malak asks as the kettle whistles. “I hated HK-47 more than anything in this galaxy, but I thought an army of them would be useful.” 

“They might’ve been if they weren’t a giant pain in the ass,” she says. “But the 50’s are all gone now, if you can believe HK.” 

Malak looks over at her, stilling where he’s pouring tea as a mild look of disbelief crosses over his features. “You have him?” 

She nods. “I know what you’re going to ask, but no, he doesn’t know anything about where Revan went. Neither does T3.” 

“They’re the only things she took with her,” he mutters darkly, and finishes the tea, bringing two mugs over for them before going back for his own. “Which means wherever she is, she’s probably alone.” 

Meetra’s hand finds the handle of her mug, and she doesn’t know what to say to that. Malak’s gone dim in an instant, and beside her Atton sips at the too hot tea. She sighs as she continues her story, “We ended up on Telos, which was...a mess, but we met Bao-Dur there. Do you remember him?”

Malak’s fingers drum against the outside of his mug, just once, from pinky to index finger. “He was an engineer, right? Iridonian?” 

She hums in confirmation. “We also ran into Atris.” 

“Kriff, that must’ve been something. Was she angry?” 

“So angry,” she says, and can’t help the laugh that falls on her next breath. How could everything have gone so impossibly wrong in her life? “Funnily enough, she didn’t mention you were alive.” 

His lips quirk up to the side. “Probably because she wishes I wasn’t.” 

“Yeah, well, join the club.” 

Atton snorts. 

Malak’s gaze shifts to him and then back to her. “So did she know anything about the Sith?” 

“As far as I know, not much,” Meetra answers honestly. “She didn’t want to help us. I should’ve known she’d be hostile, but...in the end, she let us go. It wasn’t until later that I learned that she’d fallen.” 

“What?” he asks, but it’s barely the whole of the word, just the breath of it. 

“The holocrons,” she confirms. “Pretty ironic, actually. She chose to exile herself.” 

Malak’s brows shoot upwards. “What about the Council? Did they know?”

“There isn’t a Council.” And how has he missed so much? Everything they grew up with is gone and part of that is his fault. A lot of it is Revan’s, and most of it is the Sith’s, but they all played a hand in how this fell apart. “We sought out who was left: just Vrook, Ell, and Kavar, but it turns out they were as angry with me as Atris was. Or maybe not angry, but...scared. They would’ve--they tried to--” Oh, how does she say this? “It would’ve killed me...” 

Atton’s breath hitches as Malak blows out a breath. “They tried to kill you?”

“They were going to take the Force away from me. I don’t think I could survive that again.” 

Malak rubs his hand over his face. He has to remember what it was like the first time, right after Malachor, when her wound was fresh and aching and raw. She’d been so numb, then, but now she can see how horrifying it must’ve been. To Revan and Malak, to the Council, to the entire galaxy looking at a Jedi so broken. 

But she healed. And they would’ve taken that from her. 

“What happened to them?” Malak asks after a long, slow pause. His voice sounds different for asking it. 

She breathes in through her nose. “They’re dead.” 

His gaze is heavy on her but she can’t meet it. As much as Kavar hurt her in the end, she can’t deny the role he played in her life, not only as her Master, but as Malak’s friend. The three of them spent so much _ time _ together, and it’s something she would take back if she could. 

But now--Kavar’s dead, Malak’s different, and she isn’t sure how to deal with it.

“Did you...” he starts, but she shakes her head immediately. 

“Kreia revealed herself at that time. I’m still not sure what she was, or what her true purpose was, but she killed them. To protect me.” 

“Only good thing that schutta did,” Atton mutters. 

Meetra finally dares a glance at Malak, and all that’s noticeable about his expression is the frown on his broken lips. The bottom one must be part of the prosthesis, but his top lip is too mangled and scarred to be anything other than evidence of what happened to him. He frowns, but then he shakes his head to himself. “So what about the Sith?” 

“We fought them,” she finishes. “I fought Kreia. Then Bastila and Admiral Onasi sent me to see you.” 

“When was this?” 

There’s an empty grin on her lips as she answers, “Last week.” 

“Kriff, you must be exhausted.”

Atton laughs a short breath and Meetra lets her smile fall. “I think I’ve been tired for the past ten years, Mal.” 

The nickname doesn’t feel as sick on her tongue now, but there’s still something uneasy about it. 

Those broken lips turn up at one corner--a sympathetic smile. “You guys should stay,” he suggests. “Just for the night--get some real rest. We have plenty of bedrooms here and I’m sure Frela would love to cook you breakfast in the morning.” 

Her attention immediately goes to Atton, who raises a brow with a smirk. “Sounds like a good deal, Surik,” he says, but in the Force she can feel him question it, knowing that this isn’t an easy place for her to be. _ I’m out if you’re out. _

She turns back to Malak, and maybe it isn’t only her exhaustion that has her agree with an, “Okay.” 

He gets up, collecting their mugs in one hand before placing them in the sink. “Come on, I’ll show up upstairs.” 

The floor creaks as the three of them trudge up the stairs with heavy steps. All the while Malak explains the layout of house, and once they reach the top, he points to a door that leads to the bathroom at the end of the hall. “We have one bedroom here, the other is right on the opposite side there.” 

Meetra’s gaze follows to the door he referred to, but she shakes her head, looking him in the eyes as she confesses, “We only need the one.” 

Malak spends a moment looking back and forth between them, and his brow scrapes down for a second before returning to a neutral expression. He takes a step back as he says, “Right. Do you need anything else?” 

Her and Atton glance at each other before they both kind of shake their head a little. “We’re good.” 

“Okay, goodnight then,” he says quietly, and turns around, going back down the stairs. 

“Do you think that freaked him out?” Atton asks as they go into the bedroom. It’s sweet, with two wood framed windows on the far side, and a large bed at the center of the wall to their left. There’s a quilt spread across it, patterned evenly with blue and white squares. 

“Probably,” she murmurs. She pulls off her robe, and the weight of the evening sinks so heavily on her that it’s a wonder she doesn’t immediately collapse onto the bed. “I think we’re all a little freaked out, to be honest.” 

Atton sits first, working on taking his boots off. “How are you holding up?” 

“Okay,” she answers, and sits beside him. “As well as I’m dealing with any of it, I suppose.” 

They both stop for a moment, and Atton’s expression is more gentle than she’s imagined he could be. “Come here,” he says, and he wraps an arm around her waist, pulling her back onto the bed with him. They shuffle around the pillows and the quilt until they’re settled side by side below it. “Come here,” he says again, and he kisses her lips, effectively blanking out the worry in her mind. 

Both of them are too tired for it to go anywhere, but it’s nice to lay beside him and kiss him lazily, letting everything else disappear completely. They’re in a strange place, and pieces of both of their past are in play, but what does any of that matter when his mouth is on hers? 

“He called me Jaq,” Atton grumbles once they part. 

“Is that worse than the potential of him forgetting you?” 

This close, she only gets the sense of his expression rather than the whole thing. “Maybe. He seemed...sad.” 

“Yeah,” she murmurs, and closes her eyes. “He did.” 

“Were you expecting that?” 

“No.” When neither of them fill the silence for a short moment, she continues, “I thought he would be angry. That he’d want to...to argue or...I don’t know, talk about the past more? He’s not who he was, but at the same time, he is. It’s confusing.” 

“He never really talked when I was around,” Atton mumbles, and she thinks it’s the first time he’s said anything about it. “He had the metal jaw then, and he’d just look at you with those yellow eyes. I hated it whenever he was there.” 

“They were getting to that point before I left,” she says, “but I’m glad I didn’t have to see that.” 

“You don’t seem as angry, either.” 

“Yeah, I don’t know...” she says, letting the words drift off. “There must be a limit to how much you can process things before you just start accepting them.”

“It’s been a lot,” he murmurs. 

“It sure has.” 

Atton just lets out a long, slow breath, and she can feel him begin to drift. It’s been a long, long day. He shifts his body beside her, tucking himself around her back as he wraps his arm around her waist, his lips to the back of her neck. “You ready to sleep?” 

“Yeah,” she says back, reaching up to turn off the light. The room floods with darkness, with just the blue light that slips through the curtains to ghost over everything in the room. Meetra feels her eyes close, and desperate for sleep, she very nearly drifts off. 

But then her mind thinks of Malak, and she tries to reconcile the way he looks now to who he was in the past. There are two different versions of him in her head, but this new one exists somewhere outside of those, and she doesn’t know what to make of it. 

Atton was right. He’s just...sad, and maybe Meetra would find it pathetic if she didn’t have such a weakness for him. Five years without Revan--even longer since she didn’t remember him--and he clearly still cares about her. He’s spent five years between being held by the Jedi and living in this house, and Meetra knows well that five years is enough time to build a new life, but he hasn’t. He’s come back to the place Revan once lived, staying in the same house she did. 

It just doesn’t make sense. Their devotion to each other was never clear beyond what little they showed her. Meetra knows they grew up together, that they trained together for a time, but she never quite believed that Revan loved Malak the way Malak apparently still loves her. 

Or seen a different way: Malak deserved to be loved by someone who wouldn’t do what Revan did to him. 

_ Sleep_, she tells herself, quieting her thoughts. Her eyes shut tight and she reaches down to place her hand over Atton’s. _ Just sleep_. 

But sleep doesn’t come, and time stretches on as the shadows of the room shift across the walls. Her open eyes watch them as Atton breathes steadily beside her, and she reaches out her senses, feeling his calmness beside her, the brief flicker of Frela down the hall from them, and Malak...still downstairs. Meetra glances at the clock. It’s late. 

She gets up before she has a chance to think about it, worming her way out of Atton’s embrace. She uses the Force to aid her vision in the dark as she finds her way back to the stairs, which still creak no matter how light she keeps her steps. 

The kitchen light seeps into the hallways downstairs, the glow feathered and warm as it leaks out. Meetra follows it, finding Malak in the same place that he was before, and she stops. They’re the same people they always were, but circumstances have changed them so completely; it’s impossible to go back. 

But even still--she feels different, like an old self that she’s put on again. 

“You can join me if you want, Mee,” he says before turning his head. When he does, he’s full of yellow light as he blinks up at her. 

She still hesitates for a moment, but she comes closer to sit across from him. Like this, she can look into those familiar blue eyes, lined faintly with his increasing age. Thirty-four now, but still somehow the same boy she knew once upon a time. “I didn’t think you’d be able to sense it was me.” 

“You’ve talked to Bastila,” he states, and sighs. “It’s just an echo of what it was, but it isn’t completely gone.”

“That’s still something.” 

He shakes his head. “You can see for yourself, if you’d like. You were always the one who could reach people.” 

She considers it as she stares into his eyes, remembering a time when her bonds were an easy burden to bear. She closes her eyes against the distraction of looking at him, and focuses on the Force. Her senses reach out, and she can feel the way they’re naturally drawn towards him, a familiar presence to her. Her senses brush up against his, feeling his back down and let her in, and--

He’s right. Where he was once vividly alive in the Force, bright and blinding, he’s dulled to a small light. He’s a candle in the face of a star, and her stomach churns with the memory of the feeling. Of what she once lost and has now regained. 

Not that he deserves her sympathy. 

“Okay,” she murmurs, opening her eyes again. “I understand.” 

He presses his lips into a smile. “I haven’t felt anyone else in the Force for some time now. It’s hard to believe that I didn’t sense Kavar’s death.” 

“It happened on Dantooine, you know. They rebuilt the Enclave, and died at the center of the Council Chambers.” 

“Of course,” he mumbles, grief spilling over onto his words. “It always comes full circle, doesn’t it?” 

“Considering I had to confront Kreia on Malachor V, I’d say yes, it very much does.” 

“You went back?” 

She nods. “Yeah, then we blew it up.” 

His lips turn up but it isn’t quite a smile. It’s what a smile could be, perhaps, for someone who doesn’t bear the same burdens as them. “Good,” he says, and she can feel the weight of the word. So much changed for them both on that cursed planet--to know it no longer exists is a great comfort to Meetra. 

“So you and Jaq...”

“Atton,” she corrects. “What about it?” 

“You know what he was?”

“I do.” There’s an edge to her voice; she sounds cold. “Worried?”

“Naturally.” 

“That isn’t who he is anymore,” she answers. “Just as I’m not who I was. Just as they say you aren’t who you were.” 

He looks away. 

“You don’t get to be worried anymore, Malak.” 

“I know,” he says. “It’s a habit when it comes to you.” 

She hates the way that softens her, the way her shoulders relax as she leans back in her seat. “Well you don’t have to. He’s good for me.” 

“Okay,” he offers in defeat, but there’s a warmer smile on his lips. “Are you happy?” 

“As much as I can be.” She lifts a brow. “Are you?” 

“As much as I can be,” he echoes, but it’s entirely unconvincing. It’s all over him: the slope of his shoulders, his tired eyes, the way the air feels heavier just by being in the same room as him. 

She shakes her head. “What are you doing, Mal? Just waiting for her to come back?”

“Is that pathetic?” he asks. 

“Yes.” 

Another weighted grin. “I knew I could count on you to tell me like it is.” 

“I always have,” she says, her words darker. She always kept it straight with Malak, but he never listened before. “Look--your life has never been separate from her. You’ve had years to start over, and yet you haven’t.” 

“I’m doing what I can,” he says. “I know you don’t like that answer, but it’s the truth. I have a job in construction and I’ve been helping Frela with the house and the farm, but life isn’t the same without Revan. I can't even think about it too much or it gets too dark in here.” He taps the side of his head. “How am I supposed start over when I’m not even supposed to be alive, Mee.” 

“Don’t give me that.” 

He raises a brow. “What?” 

“Starting over is the _ only _ choice we have,” she says, and the pain of the past sharpens her words. “Even if it you’ve lost everything.”

He’s quiet for a long moment, and maybe this is as close as he’ll get to agreeing with her: “It’s hard...” 

“I know,” she murmurs. 

“But look at you,” he continues, and a more genuine smile finds his lips. “You’ve changed.”

“Of course I have,” she says, ignoring whatever part of her that wants him to explain. What does he see now that he didn’t see before? “It’s been eight years, Mal.” 

“Don’t remind me.” He shakes his head as he looks away. “Do you feel old yet?” 

“Getting there.” 

They lapse into silence, and Meetra unintentionally reaches for Atton, letting the steadiness of his sleeping comfort her. Malak sighs, looking down at his hands, and suddenly his uneasiness is at the forefront of her mind. 

“Look, I’m sorry for what happened between us,” he says. “All those years ago...I know there’s nothing I can say that would help, but...I still want you to know how sorry I am. You didn’t deserve it.” 

“You’re right, I didn’t,” she says, but whether it’s her exhaustion or her soft heart, the fight goes out of her and she sighs. “You know, I spent a lot of time thinking about what I would say to you if I ever saw you again. I never thought it would happen, but I had this whole speech planned out.” 

“You want to say it now?” 

But Meetra just shakes her head, and maybe this is what healing looks like: “It doesn’t matter anymore. You hurt me...more than anyone’s hurt me, Mal, but I got better. I picked myself up, and I have something else now.” Her breath shutters out. “I can only hope you’ll find the same, because I don’t think Revan’s coming back.” 

“Don’t say that,” he mumbles, and he rests his chin in his hand as he looks down at the table. Meetra watches him blink heavily, swallowing down the feeling that threatens to rise up. 

“It’s been years,” she continues. “There isn’t a single trace of her, and she doesn’t even have a ship now. You have to admit that it doesn’t look good.” 

“She promised she’d come back.” He looks into Meetra’s eyes as though daring her to say something. She doesn’t understand--why would Revan make such a promise if she didn’t remember him? 

Still, she takes the bait. “Right, and Revan always kept her word.” 

There’s a helpless smile on his lips as he drops his hand to the table and shakes his head at her. “No, I guess she didn’t.” 

“And yet?”

“And yet,” he says. “Here I am.” 

“You’re still impossible,” Meetra mutters. During the war, she wondered what it would take to strip Malak of his devotion to Revan. Apparently, not even darkness, death, and amnesia. 

“I’m really glad you came. Despite...everything.” 

“I’m not sure I can say the same,” Meetra says with a weak laugh. “But it’s not quite as bad as I thought it would be.” 

“Hey, I’ll take it.” 

They smile at each other, and it isn’t normal but it’s progress. Here they are, years later in the dim light of the kitchen, with answered and unanswered questions. She pushes back her chair, and as she gets up she says, “I should head back to bed.” 

He nods. “Of course.” 

“Goodnight,” she murmurs, but hesitates. “It’s late...are you gonna stay up?” 

“Oh, uh, yeah. Don’t worry about me.” 

Meetra half frowns for a moment before accepting his answer. She picks her way through the quiet house, letting her footsteps fall as quietly as can as she creeps back up the stairs. The bedroom door makes a small sound as it opens, and once she’s inside it closes with a click. 

Atton’s asleep on the bed, his back to her, facing the window. The light that slips in through the cracks washes blue light over his skin, and Meetra--heavy with emotions she won’t give a voice to, crawls in next to him. Pulling the blankets up, she leans forward until her forehead presses to the base of his neck, her arm looping around his middle: the opposite of how they were earlier. 

He’s so warm and smells so familiar and in this moment, his presence is enough to let her cast aside the thoughts that would so earnestly plague her otherwise. She lets out a breath, presses her lips to his skin, and lets her eyes shut as she falls into a deep, dreamless sleep.

The last thing she senses is Malak’s presence, still awake, still downstairs, still at the kitchen table.

\--

Morning light crashes in through the window and Meetra blinks against it. Her first thoughts are confused as her eyes move between the lace curtains, the white and yellow patterned wallpaper, and the quilt that lays across her body. 

It takes an embarrassingly long moment before it comes back to her--Malak, Frela, the house. She looks over, and the space that Atton occupied has been left empty. She reaches out but it’s no longer warm, and Meetra has to take a long moment before she wills herself to sit up and check the chronometer. 

It’s a relief knowing that they’ll be leaving today. What they didn’t get from Malak means they can finally let Revan go. And maybe Meetra can finally let go of the memories that still sit so rigidly in her chest. Even if it is what it is--call it healing, call it moving on, but sometimes the only way out is through, and Meetra’s trying.

The stairs once again creak under her weight as she pulls her robe on, blinking new eyes at the bright farmhouse around her. It’s still just as cozy with the sunlight streaming through, all colors and patterns and photos that Meetra only glances over. Her feet carry her the familiar path back to the kitchen, where she finds Frela standing over the stove. 

“Good morning, dear,” the older woman says. “Coffee?” 

“That’d be perfect, thank you,” Meetra says, and sits once Frela gestures at the table. 

“I was so glad to hear that Malak convinced you to stay last night. No sense in leaving when it was already so late. Are you hungry? I’ve got hotcakes, porridge, eggs, and fruit: your choice.” 

“Thank you,” Meetra says. “Whatever’s easiest.” 

“More like whatever we have left,” Frela murmurs, moving around the kitchen. “Between Malak and that handsome pilot of yours, I thought I’d have to make another trip to the market.” 

Meetra smiles. “He _ is _ handsome, isn’t he?”

Frela raises a brow at her before she starts to move around the kitchen. “I’d say you’re a lucky girl, assuming you two are together.” 

And her whole heart softens, the smile not quite falling from her lips but changing into something else. “We are.” 

_ We are_, and how long did it take that to happen? It must’ve been since that first moment on Peragus, when they agreed to trust each other as much as they could, and even though that wasn’t much, it still got them out of there. It still got them to where they are now, where _ I love you _ sits at the tip of her tongue and she doesn’t sleep as well without him beside her. 

“Thank you,” Meetra goes on to say again as a bowl of porridge is placed in front of her. “For letting us stay, for feeding us. It’s a kindness we haven’t gotten much of in the past few months.” 

Frela just shakes her head. “It’s my pleasure, really. I’ve only had Malak to take care of lately, and he’s surprisingly simple.” 

_ The curse of being a former Jedi_, Meetra thinks. _ Or whatever he is now_. 

“He used to tell me about you,” Frela continues, joining her at the table. “He’d come visit Revan and tell us all about life on Coruscant. I’ve never been, but it always sounded so exciting.” 

Meetra nods. “You must’ve known them well.” 

“I only knew Malak as well as I could--he’d stay for one or two weeks at a time--but Revan...stars, I knew that girl. She lived here for three years, and in the end I considered her something like a daughter. I had two sons, you know, so it was a nice change of pace.” 

_ Had _two sons. Meetra feels the line of her lips soften, her shoulders loosening in some thread of understanding. At first, she didn’t know why Revan left Taanab, only that she did. It’d shaken Meetra to her core. She wasn’t even supposed to be there the day Revan came back to Coruscant for good, but Malak mentioned going to pick up her from the spaceport, and Meetra invited herself along. She didn’t understand his hesitance until they got there, and Revan--strong, stoic Revan--collapsed in his arms, crying tears that Meetra was not meant to see. 

She still can feel her past discomfort at witnessing such a thing. Meetra had frozen in place, silently watching Malak run his hand through Revan’s hair, holding her securely with his other arm and whispering words to her that Meetra, thankfully, could not make out. 

It wasn’t until later, that he quietly explained to her that the two Averre boys had died in the war. 

“From what I know,” Meetra says, clearing her throat. “She loved it here.” 

The older woman’s expression turns sentimental. “She had to learn to love it, you know. She hated it here when she first came to stay with us, which she tried to hide, but it couldn’t be helped. Arrogant young thing, but she had a good heart, as heavy as it was.” 

Frela casts an interested look her way. “You were one of her friends, right?” 

“I wouldn’t necessarily say that,” Meetra answers, a little too honestly. “I was closer to Malak, but truthfully? No one else really existed when they were together.”

“Don’t I know it,” Frela says. “I suppose that’s what young love does to you--blinds you from everything and everyone else in the galaxy.” 

“Wh--” Meetra starts, schooling her expression into something far less confused than she feels. “You knew about them?” 

“Please,” Frela says, and Meetra frowns. “Those two were always sneaking off together, acting like I wouldn’t notice. They might’ve gotten it past the Jedi, but you can’t hide much from a mother’s eyes.” 

Meetra has to take a deep breath. She’d thought that whatever they were happened only after they left for war. She’d thought--_ oh_, she’s such an idiot. How could she have missed something like that? 

Frela continues, “I feel bad for him now, still tied to someone who might as well be a ghost. I miss my late husband, but at least I know for sure that he’s gone. Malak, he--he’s always going to hope she’ll come back.” 

Meetra still can’t bring herself to feel sorry for him, but--“It must be nice to have him here, though.” 

“It fills some of the emptiness, that’s for certain,” she says. “Don’t look at me like that, dear. It’s been a long time since I lost that foolish husband of mine, even longer since I lost my sons. Grieving gets you through the worst of it, but healing comes through living.” 

And doesn’t she know it? It’s what she was trying to tell Malak last night. At one point her only option was to start over, and it didn’t look or feel like healing for a long time, but the Force came back to her, and her companions stood by her side, and it’s as much healing as she could do without letting go. Healing by moving forward, by not looking back, by _ living_. 

Has it worked? Maybe. Perhaps not entirely. But it’s gotten her to where she is now. 

“I’m sure you’re good for him,” Meetra offers. 

She shakes her head. “I’m doing what I can, but we both know I’m not the one he needs.” 

“I don’t think Revan’s coming back.” 

“But you’re looking for her, aren’t you?” 

“I--” she breaks off. “I’m not. If Malak doesn’t know where she is, then I don’t think anyone can find her.” 

Frela takes a sip of her coffee, and her expression is so gentle, so like what Meetra imagines a mother to be. “That’s a shame, then.” 

Meetra doesn’t agree, but she won’t say it. 

“But even so,” Frela continues, “I don’t know a lot about the Force, but from what I’ve heard from both Revan and Malak, it has a will of its own. I hope it’s looking out for her.”

_ She doesn’t deserve it_, Meetra wants to say, but holds her tongue. Instead it comes out as, “She wasn’t helpless to what she became.” 

“No,” Frela says. “No, I suppose not, but I’m ashamed to admit that I contributed to it. In the meantime, I’ll keep Malak as long as he needs a place to stay. It’s the least I can do.” 

_ What happened between you and Revan? _ Meetra almost says, but she can feel the wrongness of the question. It isn’t her place to ask, as much as she wants to.

“Right,” Meetra says. “I should...look for Atton. We’ll need to get going soon.”

“Of course. If you need anything before you go--”

“You’ve been very generous.” 

She just nods. “If you do find Revan, would you tell her I’m sorry?”

Meetra’s a little thrown off by the heavy emotion that comes off of Frela, and again she almost asks why, but it’s still not her place. All she can do is nod, and say, “I will.” 

\--

She finds Malak on the front porch, leaning on the railing as he looks out at the field ahead of him. Meetra follows his gaze to see Atton at the far end of the yard, standing at the edge of a pond that reflects the world around it. He throws stones across the surface, and in the Force she can feel how deep he is in his head. 

She can’t help the concern that pushes through her. 

Malak turns back, sunlight on his pale skin, and smiles a little at Meetra. In the daylight it’s easier to see him for what he is, which is why it’s funny that the first words out of her mouth are, “How long were you and Revan lying to me?” 

“Good morning,” he says in return. He raises a brow but lets out a heavy breath, returning to the view as Meetra leans on the railing beside him. “Lying about what?”

“You and her. Your relationship.” 

“We were lying to everyone,” he answers. “You knew more than most.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“It’s supposed to tell you that we were scared,” he says. “You should know what that’s like by now.”

His gaze turns back to Atton, and Meetra shakes her head. Besides the leftover guilt that still resides in her head, “There aren’t any Jedi left to condemn me.” 

“Then I guess you’re off to a better start than we were.” 

“Malak I’m serious,” she says. “I thought that it was because of the war. I thought--I thought you were defying the Council. I didn’t know it started before that.” 

He glances at her, and there’s such a sadness in his expression that Meetra can’t help but feel some of the heartache. His blue eyes shine clear in the morning light, and in those eyes he’s just the same as he was before. It’s not until he speaks, that his mechanical voice reminds her of where she is. 

“Yeah, it started before we left,” he murmurs. “Probably around the time I went back to Dantooine, but it wasn’t until she came here that it developed into what it was.” 

“I’m guessing she didn’t remember that part, either.” 

He grins, something private, and shakes his head a little. “No, not quite.” 

She’s quiet for a moment, watching the lines of Atton’s shape in the distance. The morning sun glances off of the water, obscuring him every few moments as he shifts into its light. 

“Does it change anything?” Malak asks beside her, and Meetra sighs.

“I don’t know,” she answers. It’s as honest as she can be. “I’m not sure that any amount of understanding will change the way I feel about what you and Revan did to me.”

She hears him take a breath, and when she looks over at his profile, his brows are dipped low over his eyes. He turns his head towards her. “I don’t expect you to believe me, but I never meant to hurt you, Mee.” 

“No, I don’t believe you,” she says with a soft laugh. It fades, though, and she’s left with a truth she never thought she’d say aloud: “Despite what happened, I still wanted you to come with me when I left.” 

He looks away. “I know.” 

“But you’ll never leave her, will you?” It’s not a question, and now Meetra almost feels sorry for him. _ Almost_. “Even when she leaves you.” 

“No,” he murmurs, and the two of them keep their heads forward, both of their eyes on Atton in the distance. He just keeps throwing his stones. It takes a long time for Malak to ask, “So what will you do now?” 

“Start over,” she answers. “Again. I have five padawans now. What’s left of the Jedi is on their shoulders, and I don’t want to fail them the way that the Council failed me.” 

“Never did things lightly, did you?”

“No,” she says, allowing herself one smile that feels like it could be from the past. “I should go talk to him.”

He looks at her for a long moment before nodding, but Meetra just turns to walk down the front steps.

The grass is soft under her feet as she makes her way out to the edge of the pond. If Atton hears her approach, he makes no notice of it. He just pulls his arm back and lets another rock skim across the water, skipping again and again until it eventually falls in. 

“I used to do this with my little brother,” he says. “He could never get the angle right, so he’d make me skip rocks until my shoulder ached.” 

“That sounds nice,” Meetra says, and smiles to herself. “Show me how?” 

His gaze finally flicks over to hers obscured a little by the hair that flops over his eyes, but he pushes it back before he comes up behind her and places a smooth, flat stone in her hand. He positions them so their left sides face the shore. 

“Swing low, keep it flat,” he says, and pulls her arm back and forth in a few practice arcs. She memorizes the feel of it, and Atton steps back as she swings her arm out again, letting go of the rock at the last moment. 

It stays low, but skips high, falling in after the first jump. 

“Not bad, Surik,” he says, and holds out another rock for her to take. 

Her second attempt skips three times before falling in, and she feels a triumphant smile come over her features. Glancing back at Atton, she sees the same mirrored on his own lips. 

“Maybe we _ should _go to Alderaan,” he says. 

“Oh yeah?” 

“Yeah,” he murmurs, but his gaze shifts away from hers, back towards the water. “It might be nice to see what life could’ve been like for us.” 

She feels her brow twitch. “What do you mean?” 

He pauses for a long moment, but eventually shakes his head as he turns to her. “Nothing. I get these dumb ideas sometimes. What about you, though? You seem less...anxious.” 

“There aren’t any answers here,” she says, glancing back at the house and the now-empty porch. “Nothing can fix what happened. Maybe now I can finally move on.” 

It’s more than she can say for Malak. 

He gives her an understanding nod. “So where do we go now, Sweets?” 

Her chest warms at the implication of the question, the _ we’re in this together_. She’s been so used to being alone, making decisions alone, but it feels good to have someone who so completely supports to her and chooses to stay with her. “Let’s go see what those kids are up to on Dantooine.” 

“Nothing good,” he mutters with a laugh, but he takes hold of her hand as they walk back towards the house. The breeze pushes over them, and with their backs to the sun, it’s easier to take in the ochre fields, the line of trees, and the chimney sputtering out smoke in the distance. 

“Could you see yourself living somewhere like this?” she asks. 

“I’ve never been one for farming,” he answers, but when she glances up his gaze is a little far away. Neither of them say anything else as they walk back.

\--

Meetra comms T3 once they’re inside, asking him to meet them here with the ship at the house. Frela gives her and Atton a hug in the kitchen, handing them what looks to be packed lunches. 

“Thank you again,” Meetra says, and as much as she wants to get out of here, she means it.

“You’re welcome back any time,” Frela says, the words just as honest.

Malak watches them with a sad smile on his mismatched lips. Real and fake, she doesn’t know what he is anymore, but he’s Malak and he’s alive and somehow it doesn’t feel any more real now that she’s spoken to him. 

He walks them out as the _ Ebon Hawk _ lowers itself into the empty field beside the house. Meetra watches his expression carefully, but the grief that pulls over his features is hard to witness. 

“This was one of the last places I saw her,” he murmurs as they approach the loading ramp. It shutters with a loud sound before lowering, and both Meetra and Atton stay where they are. 

She doesn’t know how to say goodbye to him. A huge part of her is relieved to be leaving, but some other part of her feels like there could’ve been more said. Eight years of wondering what this would be like, and it didn’t quite measure up. But still--

Meetra shifts her weight to face him, dropping her shoulders as she offers him her hand. 

He gives her a slow look, but it turns into an exasperated grin as his hand swallows hers in a firm shake. 

_ He changed_, Bastila said, and maybe Meetra can see it now as his smile evens out and he lets go of her. Atton shakes his hand as well, and then the two of them turn to walk up the ramp.

It’s just as she’s passing through the main hold, letting out a sigh of relief, that T3 whirs up to her, beeping out a trill that her tired brain takes a moment to translate. 

“Yes, we found him, little guy,” she says, letting her hand rest on his head as she makes to follow Atton to the cockpit. 

But T3 beeps again, and she stills. 

“What do you mean, you have a message for him?” 

She looks up to make eye contact with Atton, who’s stopped in the corridor and watches her with clear concern on his features. T3 beeps a third time, and she just nods absently. “Okay,” she says, “come on.” 

Her chest pounds as she walks back to the entrance to the ship, knowing what this most likely means. Atton trails behind them and she hits the button to lower the ramp again, only to meet the confused gaze of Malak as he leans against one of the porch beams. 

His eyes roam to T3 and back to her, and he calls out, “Did you forget something?” 

She doesn’t answer until her and T3 are down the ramp, stepping over the grass. “He says he has a message for you.” 

Malak’s face pales as he bounds down the front steps. “From Revan?” 

“I don’t know,” she murmurs, but she watches T3 roll up to Malak, who bends down on one knee in front of him. Behind her, Atton catches up and stands beside her as T3 beeps and settles down. 

The entire mood shifts once Revan appears, her image transparent and a little blurry. Meetra’s more interested in the way Malak’s expression shifts, his hand automatically coming up to cover the lower half of his face as his brows knit together.

She looks different to Meetra. Her once short hair now reaches her waist in a long, single braid, and her once sharp features now look soft and tired. 

“_Malak_,” her voice starts, and that, at least, sounds the same as it did. “_I hate the implication of what it means for you to see this, but I’d regret it if I didn’t leave anything for you, just in case. There’s...there’s something I need to take care of, something I couldn’t see before, and I’m afraid that what’s in motion now will soon be out of my control_.” 

Meetra sucks in a breath.

“_Mal, if you’re seeing this_,” Revan continues, “_I’m sorry I couldn’t remember on my own. I’m sorry I couldn’t stay. I keep those last moments with you in my mind, and they help me through the harder days. I’m doing what I have to do, now. I finally feel like I’ve found the right path--that I’m doing the right thing. If I don’t come back, I hope you can take comfort knowing that I thought it was worth it._” 

Silence cuts through the air as her image blinks out, and Malak drops his head into his hands. Silence cuts through the three of them, watching Revan who was there for a moment but has gone again. Silence cuts through, sinks down, and swallows them up. How do you break something like that?

“Malak,” she says softly, but he shakes his head. She watches the line of his shoulders tremble, but eventually he lifts his red-rimmed gaze to T3. 

“Play it again.” 


	5. Chapter 5

There are many places to hide in this galaxy. 

So much of it still remains uncharted, alone and quiet among the busy and vividly alive planets. Those dark spots on the map--places that have been left untouched--shield a multitude of dangers and hiding places alike. And yet, they still belong. Each system moves in tandem, rotating around the galactic core, hurtling through the empty spaces of the universe together. 

Somewhere out there among them, Revan hides in the shadows.

Nothingness and something, emptiness and the one person who ventures into it alone. How do you separate shape from shadow? How do you find what you’re looking for in so much unknown?

It’s easy: all it takes is the decision to look. 

\--

Meetra’s hands work without her mind thinking much of it. Her attention feels like it’s caught by a hundred different things, most notably Malak standing behind her. They’re in the main hold of the _ Ebon Hawk _, both of them quiet after hearing Revan’s message three times now, and the threads that had loosened between them are suddenly taut again.

She only spares him a glance as she backs away from the console to stand next to him. Atton’s in the cockpit with T3, so they’re the only ones who watch the holoprojector spring to life. It reaches out into the universe and a moment later, Bastila’s faded blue figure appears. 

“I see you found Malak,” she says, and there’s something firm about her expression, something Meetra didn’t see back on Telos. “Are you well?” 

She doesn’t really know how to answer that. “Yes, thank you.”

“And you, Malak?”

“I’m alright,” he says, but his voice is still shaky. It’s been maybe an hour since Revan made herself known again, and he still hasn’t said a thing about it other than, _ I need to find her_. But he looks to Bastila, and where she’s more guarded, he’s less so. “It’s good to see you.”

“I take it you know where Revan is?” Bastila asks, getting straight to it. 

“Not quite,” Meetra answers. “It turns out T3 had a message from her for Malak, dated two years back. We’ve decrypted the coordinates from its source, which we’re heading towards now.” 

“Do you think it will lead to her?”

“Either that, or it’ll get us closer,” Meetra answers. “I don’t have my hopes up, but it’s something.” 

Bastila frowns, absently touching the point of her chin. It takes a moment for her to ask, “What did her message say? Was there anything you could decipher from that?” 

Malak is silent, of course, so Meetra shakes her head. “She said she had something she needed to do. Not much else.”

“She should’ve taken someone with her,” Bastila says, and Meetra gets the feeling she means herself. “What about the coordinates? Do you know where those lead?” 

“It isn’t anything recognizable on our maps. I was wondering if you could consult the archives, see if you can find any information on it.” 

Bastila nods. “Of course. I’ll get back to you what I can.”

“Thank you,” she answers. “I’d recommend consulting Mical. He’s spent years studying these things, his knowledge could be invaluable.”

Bastila nods again. “Be careful.” 

“We will be.” 

Her image blinks out and Meetra glances at Malak, who stares at the space Bastila just occupied. There’s something distant about his gaze, and Meetra doesn’t know if there’s anything she should say in this situation.

The thing is--they’re not friends anymore. Malak may have just seen Revan for the first time in five years, but why should Meetra be the one to consult him on how he feels about it? Once upon a time it’s what she would’ve done. There were countless moments during the war, when he’d seek her out, ask her to tell him that it’d be okay, and each time she’d lay her hand on his arm or his shoulder, open the bond between them, and reassure him with everything she had. 

_ We’ll get through this. _

Maybe it’s what she should say now, but it’d be an empty promise--a lie as much as it was back then. Meetra doesn’t know what’s coming, and the pessimist in her can’t let her believe that it’s going to be anything good. All she has for Malak is, “Atton said it’ll be a few days before we get there.” 

He blinks once, and finally locks that blue-eyed gaze on her. “Thank you.” 

“There’s nothing to thank me for,” Meetra says back, because she doesn’t think he means that on just a surface level. “We haven’t found her yet.” 

She needs the reminder as much as he does. 

“It’s a chance, though,” Malak says. “I haven’t had hope in five years, so...thank you.” 

This time Meetra just nods, because there isn’t anything she can say to that, and she’s starting to realize there isn’t much she can say to Malak at all. Whatever healing she found in Frela’s house was founded on the idea that she could leave him behind. That it was a once and done thing. 

But now? Now--well, she willingly agreed to this, so she’ll keep her mouth shut. 

There are so many things she shouldn't say. 

“I’m gonna go check on Atton,” she murmurs before leaving. She doesn’t wait for a response, just turns and heads down the familiar corridor. Her stomach aches from the stress, and she tries to take a deep breath, but it feels like she can’t quite get the air all the way down to her lungs. If this is what it’s going to be like the whole time--

She’s made it through worse. She’s come back from everything she’s faced, and she’ll be damned if this is the one that gets her.

So instead of breaking down, she takes comfort in the sight of Atton’s back in the pilot seat, trails of stars spinning beyond the viewport. It’s become the one place in the galaxy that feels like home again, and her lips work up a shaky smile as she sits down next to him. 

“Hey,” he murmurs, glancing up at her once before refocusing on the deck of cards in his hands. It’s another familiar sight and sound: his long, nimble fingers expertly shuffle the cards without much thought. “Did you reach Bastila?” 

“Yeah,” she murmurs back, and fits her chin in her hand as she unfocuses her eyes until the blue, swirling light diffuses into something gentler. “She said she’ll send us anything she finds out.” 

“Well that’s something, at least.” 

His voice sounds unaffected, but Meetra raises a brow. “Are you okay with chasing after the unknown like this?” 

His hands still move but his eyes lift to meet hers. “Can’t say it’s a great feeling, but...”

“But?”

“I’m just thinking that if you left me behind like you originally wanted to, you’d be doing this alone.” 

She considers that for a moment. “If it wasn’t for you, I’m not sure I would’ve landed on Taanab in the first place.” 

“Yes you would’ve,” he says. 

“What makes you so sure?”

“Because I’m an enabler," he answers with a wicked grin. “If you really wanted to leave, we’d be long gone.” 

“Does that include right now?” 

His smile softens. “Say the word, and we’ll drop Malak off at the next stop.”

She laughs. “You really mean that, though.” 

“Yeah,” he says, and his features shift into something more serious. “But I can’t figure it out--why did you agree to help him?” 

“I gave my word that I would try and find her, and Malak would go with or without our help.” 

Not that that was on her mind when she first agreed. In all truth, she doesn’t know what she was thinking, or that she was even thinking at all. It was something between the look on Malak’s face, the way Revan spoke as though she was a dead man walking, or the idea of Malak going off on his own to find her. Something made her agree before she was even aware that she’d spoken at all. 

When it came down to it, she’d said yes where if she’d really put thought into it, she might’ve said no.

But this has been coming, whether she likes it or not, and to ignore it now would be like ignoring the spark of the Force on Peragus. Sometimes these things influence your decisions without your permission, but it’d be foolish to go against them. 

“You think he’s okay?” Atton asks. 

“No,” she says, but she gets the feeling he hasn’t been okay in a long time. “At least he’ll get an answer, one way or another.” 

Atton huffs out a breath. “And what if she’s gone? I gotta level with you, Sweets, I get the feeling this has a bad ending.” 

She’s learned to trust his feelings, so she knows better than to argue his point. She doesn’t necessarily like the idea of Malak facing grief at the end of this, but--“Maybe he’ll be better off."

She dares a glance at Atton, who raises a brow at her. “You sure about that?” 

She sighs. “It has to be better than living in this...unknown. She could have been dead for months or years now, but he’ll always hope that she’s coming back for him. A definitive answer is better than empty hope.” 

“Yeah, somehow I doubt he’ll share that sentiment.”

“Yeah, well.” She looks away, but it still hurts and she doesn’t know how to make it better. “He sees her differently. When I remember the way she treated me, or the way she treated the galaxy...I can’t let it go.” 

“Were you ever friends?” 

Meetra huffs out a breath that might be a laugh. “Revan wasn’t an easy person to be friends with. We got along for Malak’s sake, but before the war she hardly said more than two words to me at a time.” 

The funny thing is, she was excited to meet Revan. Malak had so many stories about her, and Meetra always played the part of captive audience, wondering how someone like her could be real. Then Revan came to Coruscant, and sure, those first few times she was vibrant and alive and captured everyone’s attention. She resembled the person Malak said she was, but after that--after that, well--

Well it was always different, wasn’t it? Sometimes Revan would come and be Revan: confident and inspiring and funny, and sometimes it seemed like there wasn’t anyone inside her body. She was either present or missing, or sometimes she would talk to everyone except for Meetra. Sometimes her and Malak would sit close together in the back of the cantina for hours and hours and hours, and no one else existed. 

Once Revan moved to Coruscant, she rarely came around to go out. Malak still would now and then, but he’d be distracted the entire time. He couldn’t relax, had a hard time holding a conversation, and would leave early. Meetra never understood it. 

Then the war came, and Meetra followed them, and Revan looked at her like she was a person again. She’d talk to Meetra, told her how important she was, and Meetra took that as finally getting her approval. 

For whatever it was worth.

“She wanted me to die, you know,” Meetra continues, and where has her head been? She looks over to see Atton frowning at her. “Malachor V. I wasn’t supposed to survive that--how could I? I don’t know if I can forgive Revan.” 

“What if she’s changed?” 

“That’s worse, right?” She shakes her head. “Without her memories, how can she be held accountable for what she’s done? I mean--look at where we are, look at the state of the galaxy. The Jedi are broken, the Republic is in shambles, and who knows what else will come against us? This is the aftermath of Revan, direct evidence of what she’s done. Why do we have to suffer the consequences and she gets to forget?”

“I don’t know,” Atton says, and he still just shuffles the cards in his hands. “Maybe we’ll all be better off without her.” 

Meetra sighs. “Am I being too harsh?” 

And this time Atton laughs. “That’s the last thing I’d call you, babe.” 

She hums to herself as she refocuses on the viewport again. “It’s easy to get stuck in your head. With all of this happening, I feel closer to the past than I have in years. I guess that’s the point...” 

“I guess,” he agrees. “That doesn’t make it any easier. The second you say we cut our losses and run, I’m with you.” 

_ Enabler_, he’d called himself. And he’s right--he’s always giving her a way out and she doesn’t know if she’s okay with that or not. She doesn’t know when she’ll actually take him up on it. 

Still, she grins as she turns to face him again. “You just want to go to Nar Shaddaa.”

“Well we gotta make up for last time.” 

“But you were so sweet, then,” she says. “Giving me those medpacs because you were worried about me.” 

“Yeah, so?” But he looks away and it’s cute how he pretends to be so confident with so many things, but can’t quite manage it when it comes to this. “I didn’t want you to get hurt. Not my fault you’re the one always running towards danger.” 

“See? We balance each other out.”

“If that’s what you want to call it,” he says. “But thanks--for not doing to me what Revan did to him.” 

She presses her lips into a smile. _ There’s still time_, her mind says, but she doesn’t think she could do it now. Not after everything they’ve been through together. 

“I wouldn’t,” she says. “You know, Kreia told me that I couldn’t take anyone I love when I go after Revan. I guess I’m not good at following directions.” 

Atton’s hands still once again and it takes a second for Meetra to realize what she’s said. _ Someone I love_. She wants to take it back--not because she doesn’t mean it but because she’s never said it to anyone before. Maybe there have been moments when she’s felt it, in both her past and her present, but the words have never truly left her lips. Not in any true meaning of the phrase. 

And Atton--well he runs, doesn’t he? The self-proclaimed deserter. She doesn’t want things to change because of three words that have only, at this point, been implied. 

He only clears his throat. “She told you to find Revan?” 

Meetra nods. “One of her dying requests, actually.” 

His hands still don’t resume their shuffling, so Meetra dares a glance back up at him. His lips quirk to the side when she meets his gaze, and there’s something in her eyes that she can’t read. Touching the bond only reveals his resignation, tinged with a sadness she doesn’t understand. 

“Come here,” he mutters, and he puts down the cards. Meetra eyes him for a moment before getting up, and she crosses the small distance between the two seats. Atton pulls her down into his lap and wraps his arms around her, pressing his chin against the top of her head. Meetra smiles to herself as she allows herself to feel the warmth of him. 

“What’s this for?” 

“You don’t owe them anything,” he says, his voice laced with a conviction rarely heard from him. “Not Kreia, or Revan, or Bastila, or Malak. Not even me, Sweets.”

This time her smile flattens. Even though she knows he’s right, there’s something about it that doesn’t sit well with her. It’s a question she won’t ask herself, not even all these years later. 

“Thank you,” she murmurs instead. “You’re still pretty sweet, Ace.” 

When she leans back to look at him, he presses his lips to hers, and she lets that be enough. 

\--

Time passes. Meetra meditates for the most part, taking breaks to eat or talk to Atton. She runs into Malak every so often, but he still seems stuck in his own head and Meetra doesn’t know what she’d say to him, anyway. From what she can tell, he and Atton don’t talk either. Atton doesn't mention it and she doesn't ask. 

It’s strange that all three of them have such different relationships with each other, and how those relationships have changed over time. Atton went from scoundrel to lover, while Malak went from friend to enemy, to whatever he is now. 

And the two of them? She can’t say. 

It isn’t until their last night cycle before they’ll arrive that Malak seeks her out. She’s in the garage, working on her lightsaber at the workbench when she senses his presence--something muddied and quiet now, but when she looks up he’s leaning against the doorway. 

“Can we talk?” he asks, and his voice is just as quiet as his presence.

Her stomach sinks a little but she doesn’t let it show. Instead she nods. “Sure.” 

“I’ve been thinking,” he starts, and takes a moment before he draws closer. Meetra watches him pick up a crate and places it near her. He takes a seat on top of it, and like this, he’s a little below her eye level. Meetra just leans her hip against the bench, lowering her tools.

She lets one corner of her lips pull up. “Must’ve been thinking hard.”

“It’s about Kreia.” 

This time Meetra can’t quite hide her reaction. “What about her?”

“I’m trying to figure out the role she played in this. You said she was on the _ Ebon Hawk _ when you arrived on Peragus, right?” 

“According to T3, yeah.” 

“Do you know how?” 

Meetra pauses. “I know she was looking for me, but...I’m not entirely sure. I don’t think she ever said how, but even if she did, I’m not sure that I’d believe her.” 

Malak watches her for a long moment, and Meetra struggles not to look away under the scrutiny of those familiar eyes. His thoughts read clearly across his face, from the slight downturn of his brows to the way his lips press together. 

“Why not?” he asks. 

And Meetra has to take a breath. How could someone explain Kreia? “She...wanted me to think differently. She was always challenging me and trying to get me to do something, whether it served her purpose or not. I don’t think she always told me the truth, but in some convoluted way, I do think she cared about me.” 

“Do you know what her purpose was?” 

“She wanted to understand how I survived Malachor,” Meetra says, feeling the burden of memory cloud her emotions. It’s a combination of that first instance--the death of so many--and the second, on Dantooine, when Kreia stood over her body and said _ you’ll never harm her again_. Life should’ve been easier than this. 

Malak feels it too, if the way he looks away is any indication. The two of them never got to deal with this. She left so soon after it happened, and Malak didn’t say anything at the time. 

“How did you?” he asks, even though his expression is wary.

Meetra can’t look at him. “You know what I did, Malak. Don’t tell me you didn’t feel it.” 

“But you got it back.”

“Yeah,” she murmurs. “I got it back.” 

It’s that same careful stare from him, and she knows he wants to ask _ how _, knows he’s in a similar position, but it’s not the same at all, is it? 

She gives in. “Kreia wanted me to use it--my experience--to destroy the Force. That’s all I know, it was our last conversation.” 

Malak’s eyes go a little wide. “Destroy the Force?” 

“Trust me, the thought is more horrifying when you realize it might have been possible.” 

“But you didn’t. Instead you killed her, and she failed.” 

Meetra frowns. “In a way, yes.”

In a way, because was that her true goal? Was it to get Meetra to where she is now? The woman’s thoughts were so all over the place that it’s impossible to figure out what her true purpose was. So for Malak to keep asking--

“If she knew you,” he continues, “she would’ve known that her plan would fail.” 

Meetra has to swallow back her irritation. “So what are you saying?”

“Why would she do what she did, knowing that in the end you wouldn’t go along with what she wanted? What--was it just foolish hope that she’d succeed?” 

And suddenly it’s clear. She sees through to the heart of his questions and says, “You think this has to do with Revan, don’t you?”

“The _ Ebon Hawk _ came back to you, with Kreia and Revan’s two droids. Why?” 

“I don’t know,” she answers. “I assume the answer is more complicated than the information I have suggests, but that doesn’t mean I have it.” 

He turns his head away and she knows that’s disappointing for him. She also knows that it’s all she has. 

“Malak,” she continues, and he lifts his gaze to meet hers. “We’ll get our answers, one way or another. You don’t have to reach for them.” 

And maybe that’s as close as she’ll get to saying, _w__e’ll get through this. _

“Yeah,” he says, but the word drifts off. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” 

\--

She can’t stop thinking about it, though.

_ Revan and Kreia, Revan and Kreia, Revan and Kreia. _

She tosses and turns that night, unable to quiet her mind enough to get some sleep. The thoughts keep her up, keep imagining this invisible connection between two of the most confusing women Meetra’s ever met. 

“Sorry,” she murmurs to Atton when she rolls over yet again, and she can feel her agitation in the room. It stirs up and doesn’t calm down, and she knows he can sense it as he lays awake beside her. 

“You’re still thinking about it?” 

Meetra rubs a hand over her face, looking up at the blank darkness above her. “What if he’s right? What if there’s something I’m missing?” 

“She was crazy,” he answers, and pulls her closer to him. “This is exactly the kind of thing she’d want you to wonder about after she’s gone.” 

“The way she spoke about Revan, though...” 

Because Kreia believed in Revan. She believed that grand story, even went as far as giving Revan a reason to fall other than her own selfishness and betrayal. And it’s funny, just how many people in Meetra’s life would choose Revan over her. 

“We’ll arrive tomorrow,” Atton murmurs, and his voice sounds so tired. “Try and get some rest.” 

She sighs out a long breath, forcing herself to calm down. She breathes long and slow and listens to Atton beside her, breathing long and slow. Time stretches on and she doesn’t quite sleep, but she’s able to calm her mind enough to let the anxiety ease up. 

And when she realizes she won’t sleep at all, she gets up and meditates in the cargo hold, remembering a time when things seemed just as difficult, but were so easy in comparison. 

\--

In the morning Malak makes them coffee, which is a blessing. 

Meetra washes down a bland ration bar with it, savoring both the flavor and the warmth. Malak has a datapad in his hands, and Atton’s got a cup of coffee as well, taking sips between breaks in the story he’s telling her that she--regretfully--isn’t paying much attention to. 

(It’s one of the benefits of Atton. Sometimes he just fills the quiet in order to fill the quiet, especially when it has the potential to loom long and uncomfortable like it does now. She knows he doesn’t care about the attention, would probably rather avoid it, but it’s a survival tactic that he’s developed and it helps Meetra more than she thought it would.)

She finishes the last of her cup, lost in thought, when her eyes lift to land on Malak. 

“Did you know Kreia?” she asks, and he glances up from his datapad with a frown. 

“No,” he answers. “I don’t think so.” 

“She said she trained Revan,” she continues, and a strange feeling stirs in her chest. “Both before and after the war.” 

He sits up straighter and his brows come down. “That can’t be possible. I’ve known everyone who’s trained Revan.”

“See? She lied,” Atton says. “Considering all of her charming qualities, it’s not much of a surprise.” 

“Unless--” Malak starts, ignoring him, but the word breaks off and his lips part as confusion works its way across his features. A long moment of quiet passes between them, and his skin pales as sits back in his seat. 

“What is it?” she prompts. 

“Unless she went by a different name, then,” he says. “If she was--oh, kriff--if she’s actually Master Kae--” 

Meetra glances at Atton, who looks just about as confused as she feels. “Who’s Master Kae?”

Malak looks at her hollowly for a moment before gathering himself back together. “That was before we knew you,” he murmurs. His voice is quiet--lost. “Kae was Revan’s first master. She was very...cryptic, very elusive. Revan cared for her like a mother. When we were eighteen, Kae was exiled from the Order, and I don’t think Revan ever recovered from it.” 

But Meetra goes cold at the word _ exile_, and her heart drops even as it pounds in her chest. Her next words leave her lips without permission: “From one exile to another.” 

“There’s no way--” Atton starts. “Is there?” 

“I wouldn’t put it out of the realm of possibility,” she says. “But--not even Kreia could’ve planned all of this.” 

“Not alone,” Malak murmurs. “I just know that Revan’s involved somehow.” 

And Meetra can’t ignore the anger that rises in her throat at the thought of Revan playing a part in the Force coming back to her. These past six months have belonged to her alone, have proved her strength on her own, and now to think that it was orchestrated in part by Revan? 

She can’t stomach it.

Thankfully the console from the comm room interrupts her train of thought--they don’t know anything for certain yet. 

“Looks like we’re about to find out,” Atton says as the three of them get up. They follow the sound, cramping themselves around the console that prints one word across the screen: 

NATHEMA.

Some part of Meetra knows the name, but she can’t place it despite how familiar it sounds. It’s when she looks over at Malak and sees the recognition in his eyes that she feels the reality of their situation. 

They’re really going after Revan. 

“Have we been there?” she asks. 

“Revan has,” he answers, and he smooths his hand over his head, right across those fading tattoos. “It was towards the end of the war. Force knows where she heard of it, but she had it in her mind that it was important, and did a reconnaissance mission there alone.”

“Alone?”

He rolls his eyes. “I fought her on it, but you know how she was.” 

Oh, does Meetra know. “So what did she find there?” 

“She never told me,” he answers. “Clearly it must’ve been important, but we never got the chance to really talk about it. It was right before Talvon died.” 

“Right.” Meetra turns her head away at the mention of his name, her jaw clicking shut audibly. She doesn’t need to hear Malak talk about Talvon. Her eyes scan over the word Nathema again and again, and she lets her shoulders relax. “Well it looks like we’re about to find out.” 

“I’ll prep for landing,” Atton says. “This should be fun.” 

He turns to leave for the cockpit, and Meetra shuts her eyes for a moment, forcing a breath out. She’s starting to wonder if it’s her fault that it’s all adding up like this--that maybe if she dealt with her other issues sooner, they wouldn’t compound on the current ones so heavily. 

And that’s a question she has to ask herself: how much worse is it going to get? Because she glances at Malak, and she knows there’s no way it’s going to get any easier. 

“Do you think she’s there?” he asks, but judging the tone of his voice, he already knows the answer. 

“No,” she says anyway, because he needs to hear it. “I don’t think she is.” 

She hears him say something else, but her attention is caught by the console. Another message comes through, this one saying:

_ Please exercise caution. Not much is known about Nathema except for old legends, which suggest that the planet is completely devoid of life. If there is any truth to these stories, I fear you’ll be heading towards something potentially dangerous, for both you and the company you keep. _

_ I only wish I was there with you, but I understand my role here. I will meditate on this, and if I come across anything else, I will send it your way. _

_ May the Force be with you,  
_ _ Mical _

Meetra closes her eyes as she breathes out. She wishes Mical was here, too. There’s a strength about him that kept her focused on the mission, and she misses the long hours spent meditating together, losing themselves in the Force and fortifying both of their wills. As glad as she is to have Atton with her now, that’s just not something they’ve been able to do together. 

But she knows the new Jedi Order will need Mical’s strength more than she will, because this is a foolish endeavor with foolish intentions. 

“I should go alone,” Malak says, breaking the silence between them. 

“What?” 

“I can’t ask you to put yourself in danger for me,” he explains. “You’re doing enough just by taking me here, I should go alone to find out what Revan’s done.” 

Meetra frowns as she looks up at him. His eyes and her senses tell her that he’s being honest, but some part of her has to wonder what he’s playing at. “We’ll go together. If it’s truly dangerous, you’ll need me.”

“Right,” he says, and there’s a small smile on his closed lips. “Considering you’ve killed three Sith and I’ve killed zero, I guess you’re the one with something to teach.” 

Her answering smile is grim, but she thinks it still counts. “A bit different than Coruscant.” 

“Yeah,” he says, and that isn’t happy either. “Quite.” 

Luckily, Atton interrupts them as he calls out, “Ten minutes until landing--you’re gonna want to see this.” 

“Right,” she says to Malak, and breathes out in a rush. “You should probably strap yourself in--we have a habit of crashing.” 

Malak gives her a wary look but she manages to give him a genuine smile this time, despite the fact that she’s not actually joking. She leaves him to go join Atton in the cockpit, but she has to stop right as she sees the planet beyond the viewport. 

The size of it fills the entire space--pale brown and empty, even from here, but what’s striking is the scorched line that shrieks across the surface. It has to be hundreds of miles long, black and charred, and branching out like lightning at the edges. It looks like a physical wound to the planet, as if someone cut it open and sewed it shut again. 

“What is that?” she hears herself ask as she slowly draws towards the copilot’s chair. 

“I don’t know, but I don’t like it,” Atton says, and when she glances over, his lips are fixed in a frown. “Our coordinates lead to right outside its edge.” 

Oh, there’s a sick feeling that sinks into her gut. “I’m guessing Revan had something to do with this.” 

“How many credits are you willing to bet?” 

She manages a smile, but as they descend towards the planet, a different feeling sweeps over her. This one is cold--desperately cold and empty. 

“There’s something wrong here,” she says. The words sound slow and far away. 

“No kidding,” he says, but it gets worse the closer they get to the ground. Meetra’s chest feels tight with it as it echoes hollowly through her. It feels...it feels familiar and uncomfortable and as they shutter on to the ground, Meetra’s mind halts with the void of the Force around her. 

“Atton,” she murmurs, focusing just enough to get the words out. “Do you feel that?” 

She looks over to see him rubbing a hand across his eyes. “Yeah, what the hell?”

“I don’t know,” she says, but it feels so unsteady. She hasn’t felt this--this _ empty _ since--

“We better make this fast,” Atton says. “I don’t know how long we can all hold out like this.” 

She makes herself nod. “Which is why you need to stay here.” 

“What? There’s no way I’m letting you go alone.” 

“I’ll be with Malak and T3,” she explains. “If we need to make a quick escape, then I need you here with the engine running.” 

Atton presses his lips together. “I don’t like it.” 

“I know,” she says. “Trust me.” 

It doesn’t take him long to agree, but he doesn’t hide his disapproval, even as he stands to pull her into a hug. “I don’t think medpacs are gonna do anything for you in this situation.” 

There’s that familiar feeling in her chest, one that almost chases the emptiness away, and she smiles. “I don’t think so either.” 

When he pulls back, he leaves one kiss on her lips. “Be careful.” 

“We will be.” 

He swallows, but he nods. Meetra gathers up what strength she has, and with careful but uncertain steps she makes her way back to the ramp, where Malak waits. He leans against the wall, and his eyes are closed until she approaches him. 

“I feel it,” he says. “It’s bearable, but it’s there.” 

Meetra looks at him, but she doesn’t say anything as she hits the button for the loading ramp. 

“Must be worse for you,” he says. “Like I said, I can go alone.” 

And this time she opens her mouth enough to say, “No,” as the loading ramp lowers. 

Because she’s stubborn and she always has been, and if she has it in her to do this, she’s going to. It’s how she viewed the war, life after the war, and this new war now. There’s no choice but to keep going, even if it doesn’t make sense. 

Even if it’s dangerous. 

The ramp touches the ground and Meetra feels the dry air seep into the ship. It isn’t hot but it’s uncomfortable, and she stumbles on her first step out. Malak catches her by the arm, and doesn’t let go even when she straightens herself. 

“I’m fine,” she says as she shakes him off. “Come on.” 

Her boots hit dusty earth, and she has to blink back the brightness of the planet. There’s a strange aura here--one completely devoid of the Force, and Mical was right: there’s nothing alive here. The trees are dead and rotting, there isn’t any vegetation to be seen, and even if Meetra was able to sense her surroundings, she’d take up Atton's bet that there aren’t any living creatures left. 

There’s a rocky cliff though, leading to mountains that lie beyond Revan’s coordinates. Her and Malak walk in silence towards them, with T3 rolling along behind--his whirring movements the only sound on the planet aside from the wind that whistles a strange, sour note. 

It gets harder and harder to breathe through it, to focus her mind enough to battle against the emptiness. It feels too much like before--like right after Malachor, and Meetra’s desperately trying to shake off the thoughts that come with that, but it isn’t easy. 

“There,” Malak says, and Meetra’s gaze follows to where he’s pointing to. 

Ahead of them is a mountain that stands alone, and at its base is an arch that looks to be carved into the rock. It reminds her of a Jedi Temple--one of the ones her and Master Kavar would visit in her youth. Ancient and delicate, she doesn't know how it would survive in a place as cold and as hollow as this. 

She hopes that it’ll change once they reach the structure, but the feeling only grows worse. It starts in her head, a whining pain that creeps up the back of her neck--sharp and aching and it hurts like before. And Revan’s presence--

“Malak,” she chokes out, but she feels Revan’s presence and the wound that cut through her so deeply. It fills the void, or rather it stands beside the void, and together they grip her until she can’t breathe. It’s Revan and the Wound and the flood of Malachor. It’s the death she caused--what should’ve killed her too, and it was supposed to...oh, it was supposed to. 

And there she is, nodding to Bao-Dur. There she is, feeling it all at once, shutting out so many lives all at once. She didn’t want to do it--they need to know that she didn’t want to do it but it was the war and she became blind to the violence of it. The brutality she fought became her own, and she listened to Revan until it destroyed her. 

She listened to Revan when she shouldn’t have, and the regret is so deep and present and it can’t be real--it can’t be happening again, can it? 

“Hey,” she hears Malak say, only it sounds like it’s coming from a distance. She has to open her eyes, she realizes, and when she does he’s right in front of her. They’re both on the ground, and he’s crouched before her with his hands on her shoulders, his blue eyes looking so intensely at her--and he needs to know--

“She’s gonna kill me,” Meetra says, and the fear that grips her is so very old, but in this moment it feels brand new. Why is it so hard to breathe? “Malak, she wants to kill me. She--she--”

“Shh,” he hushes her. “She won’t.” 

“She will,” she says, and her voice breaks. The panic steels over her and she can’t _ feel _ anything. She reaches for him, lets him crush her against his chest. 

This is Malak; this is safety. 

“I won’t let her,” he says, and his grip tightens as she finally breathes out. She doesn’t know how long they stay like that, only that when he pulls back he meets her gaze once again. “Meetra, I need you to focus right now. Where are you?” 

She blinks heavily. Her eyes are on him, and he looks the same as he did then, but their surroundings don’t. Her eyes move from boulder to rocky boulder, the carved temple at the base of the mountain, and the dry, cold air. Empty, empty, empty. All of it--empty, but it’s something new. 

“Nathema,” she finally says, and her shoulders relax. Her voice is more confident when she says, “We’re on Nathema.”

Malak nods. “Do you want to go back to the ship?” 

“No,” she says again. Because she’s stronger than this. She has overcome this, and she won’t let it beat her again. “We’re nearly there.” 

He stares at her for a second, but he seems to accept it. Once they’re both standing he offers her his hand, but Meetra is so embarrassed that she could cry, so she ignores it. Instead she brushes the dirt off of her robes, and doesn’t look at him. She focuses her gaze ahead of them, and by some silent agreement, they continue on. 

The entrance is larger than she originally thought, and her eyes scan over the carvings--old letters and words she learned once upon a time but can’t translate now. She watches T3 scan them, copying them to his memory core, while Malak ventures in first. 

Meetra takes a breath and follows him in. 

The feeling lessens slightly as she steps into the unknown, pulling out her lightsaber to combat the darkness that swallows them up. Viridian light pours over the walls, revealing painted figures and arches and symbols that Meetra doesn’t recognize. The room itself is small and empty, save for a stone pedestal that sits against the back wall. 

Malak moves towards it, but Meetra pauses. “Look,” she says, and points to the wall above it. There are thin, curving lines arching around a triangle that sits at the center, and there are what looks like rings of...light, perhaps, around it. 

She asks T3 to scan the walls as well--she’s not in the right state of mind to analyze them now, but it might be useful information for later. 

“What do you think it means?” she asks, but when she looks to Malak, he’s picking something up off of the pedestal. Her brows furrow as she steps towards him, and in his hands is what appears to be pieces of paper, bound together along one edge. 

He angles it towards her so she can see what’s written on the first page: 

_ To the one that follows. _

Goosebumps raise across her arms as the realizes what that means, and Malak’s hands shake where he’s still holding it out for her to see. She dares a glance up at him, but he still stares at the paper, at what Revan’s left behind for him. 

“I suppose that’s what we came here for,” she says, her quiet voice loud in this silent place. “Perhaps we should read it on the ship.” 

He nods, and she watches his hands tighten their grip on the paper, but he looks up, finally, and over at T3. They wait for him to finish his scans, both exhausted, and finally they leave this place. 

\--

“We’re heading back now,” Meetra says into the comm. She sounds different even to herself.

“You were gone for a while, everything alright?” Atton’s tinny voice asks, but it’s a relief just to hear him. 

“Yeah,” she says, and even though she’s not exactly sure that’s the case, right now it has to be. “We’ll be there shortly, get ready to take off. I don’t want to spend any more time here than absolutely necessary.” 

“Sounds good, I’ll see you soon.” 

Malak doesn’t say anything once she clips her comm back to her belt. For her part, she doesn’t say anything either, she’s just happy to be going back to the ship. That empty feeling still swirls around, disconnects her from the Force, and she’s ready to get some distance from it. 

She relaxes once the _ Hawk _ is in sight, and both of them hurry their pace until they’re at the loading ramp. Closing it behind her, Meetra shuts out the worst of the feeling, and finally breathes again. 

Malak already flips through the pages he collected from the temple. There are only three of them, if she’s counted correctly, but he spends the longest on the second one. 

“What is it?” she asks, her impatience getting the better of her. 

But he has that blankness about him like when they first watched Revan’s message, and instead of answering, he hands them over. 

The first she’s seen, but the second is a letter, reading: 

_ Malak, _

_ I didn't want you to have to come to this place. In fact, I hope you never read this. I left you in order to remember, and I promise that I always planned on coming back, but I can't until I've dealt with what I've found out here. I have worked so hard to keep you all safe, but the truth is that there are forces in this universe greater than what we've encountered. I'm not sure that I have the strength to fight them, but it's only right that I try. _

_ I'm assuming that if you're reading this, then my plans have gone completely sideways. If that's the case, I ask that you truly consider what it means to follow my path. I know better than to ask you to move on, to forget about me, and live out the life you should've lived all along. We both know you won't, even though I think you’d be better off. _

_ Call me selfish, but part of me is glad for it. You are faithful to a fault, and even if the thought of you coming out here terrifies me, it's comforting to think that someday we might see each other again. _

_ I know I can't prepare for every eventuality, and that despite my best efforts, it might all fall apart anyway. I'm trying, though, and the least I can do is leave a trail to follow. Hopefully at the end of it, I'll be able to tell you what it all meant. _

_ Stay safe,  
_ _ R. _

Meetra breathes out a heavy breath, emotional despite who wrote this. Something about the resignation in the words doesn’t sit right with her. It’s not like Revan to give up, so whatever she’s after, it has to be dangerous. 

Meetra flips to the last page they’ve been given, and this one is a drawing--or rather, it’s a map. There’s another set of coordinates laid out past Nathema, where they are, and though Meetra doesn’t recognize it, she knows they have no choice but to follow. 

She looks up at Malak again, but he just holds his hand out to take Revan’s letter back from her. She lets him. 

“At least we know we’re going in the right direction,” she offers. 

“Yeah,” he agrees, but the way his lips pull up at the corners doesn’t make him look happy. “Let’s hope we’re not too late.” 


	6. Chapter 6

In all the years that she’s known them, Meetra’s only seen Revan and Malak duel once. 

It was at the very beginning of the war, right before the runaway Jedi had gotten earnestly involved with the Republic. Maybe the two of them felt like they had to show off for the soldiers, to let them know what they were capable of. They were proud and fierce and knew they had something to prove.

More importantly, they had the ability to prove themselves. 

Of course it worked. The crowd watched in awe as Revan and Malak fought in sync, like one person, or two halves of a whole. Even Meetra held her breath, sitting between Xaset and Talvon, as she watched them match blow for blow. She still remembers the disbelief she felt at the impossibility of what they did, moving as though they knew exactly what the other was thinking. When Revan finally disarmed Malak, Malak disarmed Revan, and then they fought with each other’s blades like they were their own. 

She should’ve known then, watching them, that there was more to their story. Perhaps it was obvious to anyone who didn’t grow up believing that everyone held fast to the wisdom of keeping yourself from attachments. Perhaps it was obvious to anyone who wasn’t Meetra, who carried a multitude of emotions about them that she had yet to name at that point. 

Because Revan and Malak weren’t the only ones who needed to prove themselves. Though the war gave them all a cause to fight for, it also gave them the cruel taste of violence, of justice, and soon the numbness that comes from fighting the same enemy for so long. 

Meetra couldn’t have known that at the start, not when she so furiously believed that they were doing the right thing. Not when she watched Revan and Malak move across their stage in perfect rhythm, jealousy looming in the back of her mind because for all her days spent sparring with Malak, she’d never come close to beating him. 

All she knows now is--whatever happened between Revan and Malak on the Star Forge, it must’ve been one hell of a show.

\--

Meetra meditates for a long time after Nathema. 

It’s the only way to make sense of what happened. Shame burns through her, unpleasant and unwelcome, but it’s hard to shake off. It’s hard to relive the pain of Malachor when she’s spent so long pushing it away. She thought she’d finally healed from it, that going back there and facing it would finally put it to rest, but it’s risen up again and gripped her as it always wants to. 

The Wound is hungry, and alive, and sometimes she wonders what would’ve happened if she gave into it, as Nihilus did. It’s frightening to know the potential of your pain, the effect it could have on the galaxy. Already it made her shatter under its weight again, to seek out Malak despite the way he didn’t comfort her the first time. 

Sometimes she thinks she could blame the war for every bad thing that’s happened to her. She could blame it for what it took from her--_comfort, home, community _\--and for what it gave her, for what it made her. She’d never killed anyone before she left Coruscant with Revan and Malak. She’d never compromised who she was, given up her warmth in the face of cold violence, or seen the galaxy through a lens of hopelessness.

But then she did, and despite all her healing, she still drags the war with her everywhere she goes. 

It’s harder to shake off now, though. Revan and the war are one and the same in Meetra’s mind. She doesn’t know how to separate one from the other--if there’s even a way--and chasing after Revan’s shadow is like picking up the pieces of a war that should be forgotten.

Then Nathema pushed that same feeling of Malachor through her veins, and her old bond with Malak wants to come alive again, relentlessly asking her to let it back in.

Maybe she shouldn’t be surprised by that--reaching out for people is what she does. It’s not a conscious thing but it happens all the same, and her bond with Malak was closer than most. They knew each other for years before the war, building something that was only strengthened by the battlefield. Like all things, it tore apart on Malachor, but that doesn’t mean it wants to--or has the ability to--stay quiet. 

The way he held her doesn’t help. The patience and care he showed her--echoes of who he once was--only makes it harder to ignore. 

Whatever calls to her deep down, though, she knows that she can’t trust him. She knows that he’ll always choose Revan over her, and it’s always hurt them both. 

But meditation helps. Meditation clears her mind and allows her to focus, despite how all of her thoughts want to rush at her at once. The void of Nathema and its residual effect. A moment of impact and the past suddenly alive again, different but somehow the same as it was in that cursed cave on Korriban. 

Back then she had gone to Atton after, and he was there for her despite the roadblocks they put in each other's ways. After Nathema, she glossed over what happened and hid herself here in the cargo hold. It’s what she’s been trying to avoid. She knows that he understands this part of who she is, but it’s one thing to know, and another to see. 

And it’s so hard to own these ghosts. 

She’d be content to drown herself in her meditation, to allow the comfort of the Force to continue to veil the shame of what happened, but it can’t last. If she wasn’t alone--if Mical or Visas were here she could probably keep going, but her focus wanes as time drags on. The small discomforts in her body make themselves known: the stiffness of her neck, the ache in her knees, and when she finally stands up she stretches her arms out, listening to the satisfying crack of her joints. 

Her mind is mercifully blank as she snaps to awareness, but she knows it won’t last for long--it never does. Even so, it’s a small break from the racing thoughts that she’s been fighting for the past two weeks. 

Kriff--is that all it’s been? Two weeks ago Kreia was still aboard this ship, Atris’s secrets remained hidden, and Meetra had no idea that Malak was alive. Perhaps she shouldn’t be surprised at this point--how quickly life moves along--but the realization still sweeps over her in a flash and leaves her a little dumbfounded. 

It isn’t until she hears the low murmur of two voices that she snaps out of it. She follows the sound into the main hold, where she finds Malak and Atton sitting across from each other, pazaak cards in their hands. There’s something fragile about both of them, but the Force sits comfortably in the room instead of the burden it’s been. 

Meetra tries very hard not to frown. 

It’s Atton who looks up first, and his expression loosens into a familiar grin. “Hey, Sweets.” 

“Hi,” she says after a beat of hesitation. Malak glances up when she speaks, and maybe he doesn’t look at her like Atton does, but he seems calm despite the concern in his eyes. 

She wishes she’d gone to Nathema alone, that she could’ve faced what was there by herself. Heat like anger churns in her stomach at the thought of Malak seeing her like that--broken, weak, and lost in the past. These are things she has survived on her own, and none of it belongs to him. 

But still--he pulled her out of it, and maybe that’s even more upsetting. 

“Were you able to reach Bastila?” she asks, and clears her throat. Her voice sounds hollow and out of practice, and she can see the shift in Atton’s gaze at it. 

“Not through holocall,” he answers carefully. He glances at Malak, who shakes his head. “I think we’re too far out. We sent a message, though.”

She sucks in a short breath. Something about seeing Malak and Atton together like this doesn’t sit right, but she knows better than to say anything about it. Instead, she nods to herself and murmurs, “Okay. How soon until we arrive?” 

Atton’s brows lower in thought. “About four or five hours.” 

“Okay,” she says again, and takes a breath. “I’m going to study T3’s scans in the meantime.” 

“Sounds good.” 

Malak doesn’t say anything to her, and Atton goes back to their game. Meetra stands there for only a moment longer, uncertain of what, exactly, she’s feeling but feeling it all the same. She doesn’t understand why Atton would want to spend time with Malak. Doesn’t the former Sith remind him of his past in a way that hurts?  
  
Has Meetra even asked? 

It’s with a sigh that she crumples into the copilot seat, beckoning T3 to display the images of the temple in place of the volley of stars that blur towards them. 

“This is what Revan does to me,” she says to the droid, letting her eyes settle on the calming blue light at the center of his dome

T3 beeps, and she presses her lips together. _ She was always kind to me_, he says, and Meetra finds herself smiling. 

“Well who could possibly be mean to you, hm?” 

He beeps again, and this time her attention turns to the scans in front of her as she sits back and prepares to figure out whatever mystery Revan’s chasing. 

\--

It’s a little while later that she hears Atton’s steps head down the corridor towards her. It’s not as familiar as it could be, considering he’s usually the one that’s here and she’s the one seeking him out, but she still knows it’s him as she continues to study the viewport as though simply staring at it will give her the answers she seeks.

“Replacing me with the cargo cylinder?” Atton asks, and she can hear the sound of a grin in his voice before she turns to confirm that it’s there.

“Thinking about it,” she answers, somewhat absently. “Did you win?” 

“Did I win--” he repeats. “You ever know me to lose?”

Meetra raises an unimpressed brow. “Yes. Several times, in fact.” 

“Playing against you doesn’t count,” he explains. “And any other time...I meant to do that. It’s called hustling.” 

“Sure, babe,” she says, swallowing the laugh that threatens to come out.

The expression on his face is an odd mix of annoyance and embarrassment, not something she usually sees on him. He changes the subject: “Make any progress here?” 

She shakes her head. “Not yet. You?” 

He raises a brow as he stops what he’s doing. His eyes glance up at the scans, and his lips form a frown. “I haven’t even looked at it.” 

“No--you and Malak,” she says. “Looks like you two are friends now.” 

“Don’t worry,” he says back. “You know I only have eyes for you.” 

“Not the mental image I needed,” she says, and Atton scrunches his nose in response. Meetra lets herself smile a little before letting out a breath and asking a question in the form of one word: “Why?” 

He looks at her and she hopes that he understands, that somehow the bond between them makes it clear. _ I can’t trust him, I can’t let him get close to you_. Perhaps it says enough that she can feel the joking answer that poises at his lips, ready and there just as it always is, but she can also feel the moment it gives way to the truth. 

“I wanted to talk to him,” he says, and sighs. “It’s easier, sometimes, with cards in your hands.” 

And Meetra remembers a conversation on Nar Shaddaa, the way it continued on the _ Ebon Hawk_. She remembers the way his eyes narrowed as he spit out words about the war, about what he did, and thinks that it makes sense that some part of him would feel compelled to talk to Malak about it. 

She’s not the only one with history with them. 

“Okay,” she says, because despite how she’s pushed him before about this, it wouldn’t feel right, now. She looks at him and she knows how it feels to grapple with your past. He doesn’t need her deepening the wound. 

“What do you want, Surik?” he asks, but it doesn’t sound mean. It’s a genuine question, one borne of confusion that she’s undoubtedly caused. 

She thinks she’d like to go home, only there isn’t anywhere to call home now. After the war, moving on looked a lot like running away, and she’s tired of running. Her and Atton are both the type that need to keep moving, so maybe it makes sense that they’re here together, still going at the end of it all. If there was a place--if there was just one place for them--

“I want to understand what this means,” she says, pointing at T3’s scans. This is how they’ll move on. “It looks like a form of Jedi script, but it’s different from anything I’ve studied. The words I thought I could make out don’t make any sense together.” 

Atton spares her a long look before shifting his gaze to the scans as well. He knows what she’s doing. 

“Well what about these lines?” he asks, pointing to the ones that curve around the figures. 

“I don’t know--could be roads, or paths, or...something completely abstract,” she says with a short breath that sounds something like a laugh. When she looks up, her eyes land on his face, close in proximity but he still feels distant. He looks at the scans with intent, softer than usual. His walls are completely down with her, and it’s so unfair that she hasn’t done the same with him. 

“I’m sorry,” she says, and that gets him to move his gaze to her. “This is harder than I thought it would be.” 

“Yeah,” he says back. “I know. You warned me.” 

Her frustration ebbs but she can still feel it under the surface. “I don’t want to hurt you.” 

And that lazy grin comes over his lips. “Trust me, it takes a lot more than this to hurt my feelings.” 

She wishes she could tell him how grateful she is that he’s here, but he must know that. He must feel it in their bond--what’s alive and good between them might be the only thing on this ship alive and good. 

“What did Malak say?” she asks. 

He shakes his head. “That he’s worried about you. Which makes me feel like I should be, too.” 

“I’m okay,” she says. It’s almost the truth, because the truth is that she will be. She’ll get over it. “Nathema shook me up a little, and I can’t say that I’m happy to be on this mission, but I’ll be okay.” 

“What about Malak?”

“What about him?”

“I don’t know,” Atton says, and he moves his gaze to the viewport, where the light ghosts over his profile. “I feel like we’re gonna need him on our side. There might come a point where we can’t consider him an enemy.” 

Meetra swallows. “You read Revan’s letter.” 

“_Forces in this universe greater than what we’ve encountered’_,” he repeats. “I know we’ve beaten the odds before, but are you sure about this one?” 

“As much as I can be,” she admits, but they both know that doesn’t count for much when she still doubts everything. She amends: “I’m sure about us. What we’ve been through.” 

That’s the one thing she can trust in. That counts for more than anything else. 

Atton’s lopsided gin is response enough. 

\--

Meetra lingers in the corridor for far too long. She left Atton to talk to Malak, the rational part of her brain reminding her that she chose to stay on this mission, chose to let Malak aboard the ship, and if they’re going to get anything done, she can’t let her emotions get in the way. 

Which, like everything else, is easier said than done. 

A deep breath. Another one. She takes her final steps into the main hold, where Malak sits with Revan’s letter in his hands. He glances up at Meetra, meeting her gaze for just a second before dropping it again. Meetra, for her part, ignores him as she strides over to a seat a good distance away. 

Time stretches on with the emptiness between them, but finally Malak fills the space for her: “Revan always did have lousy handwriting.” 

“Like yours is any better,” she says absently.

“Hey,” he says, and his gaze is already on her when she looks up to meet it. “I’ve worked on mine.”

She raises a brow. 

“Frela gets flare ups with arthritis,” he explains. “It makes it tough to write, so she has me fill out a lot of forms for her. She said there was no point if they were illegible.”

“Good woman.” 

“She is,” he agrees. “Always too good for us.” 

Meetra considers that for a moment, watching Malak carefully. “Not according to her.” 

She sees the moment his brow quirks as he takes in what she just said. “What do you mean?”

“She asked me to apologize to Revan for her,” Meetra answers, keeping her voice even. “She thinks she contributed to Revan’s fall--whatever that means.” 

It’s out in the open, free for Malak to take and explain if he wants to. Meetra just watches him as emotion work its way subtly over his face. It starts with the set of his jaw, and despite the curiosity that burns in her mind, she knows she has to leave it up to him. 

He takes the bait. 

“I--we--haven’t really talked about it much,” he says. “I suppose she feels guilty for the way things ended with them on Taanab, but I don’t think Revan ever blamed her.” 

“Is that why--” Meetra starts, and cuts herself off. She thinks of the Coruscant spaceport, of the one and only time she saw Revan cry. She thinks of her own hands shaking and the way Malak’s arms wrapped around the woman who still had yet to become both the hero and the villain. She takes a breath. “What did Frela do?”

Her voice is quiet, and the question stays in the air for what feels like too long between them. 

Malak watches her carefully until he doesn’t, until he looks away and sighs. “It was more like what she didn’t do,” he starts. “The day they found out that the Averre boys died, Frela’s husband took out his grief on Revan. He blamed her for the Jedi not being there, said that it wouldn’t have happened if we were doing something. He kicked her out. Frela didn’t say anything--she just watched--and Revan lost all of them that day.” 

Meetra presses her lips together, uncomfortable with the pity that sings out in her heart. She shakes it off, looking Malak up and down for a second before saying, “She wasn’t very good at avoiding attachments.” 

In response, Malak lifts the letter in his hands. 

A small sound escapes her mouth, like it could be a laugh if she was willing. The moment of levity doesn’t last long because it can’t last long, because she has to keep going. “About Nathema--”

She still doesn’t know what to say. Her words cut off as she looks back at the rest of the main hold, over this place that she has lived for months now. Maybe this is a home. Maybe she has made this place a home. 

“You don’t have to,” Malak says quietly as the silence drags on. 

“It felt like it did before,” she says, hoping that it’s as much of an explanation as he needs. As if six words could summarize years of raw feeling. “I’m mad at myself for letting it affect me like that, and I’m mad at you for witnessing it. For responding with kindness.” 

“That...isn’t what I expected,” he says, and there’s some sense of amusement there, even under the hurt that sits so obviously in his eyes. She knows she isn’t the only reason for it, but it still makes her feel guilty. 

She sighs. “I don’t know how to move forward like this, Malak.” 

“I don’t either,” he responds, and she thinks that maybe this is it--maybe the past isn’t something the two of them can recover from--but then the corners of his lips turn up. “I’m willing to try, though.” 

And damn his ability to get under her skin, access the part of her heart that always cared about him, even as he fell. No attachments--she supposes she’s never been particularly good at it, either. She knows how useful it would be, if she could’ve been a better Jedi both then and now. She thinks of her friends back on Dantooine, Atton in the cockpit, and Malak here, and presses her lips together as she turns her head. 

“Okay,” she says, and at first it’s the only thing she thinks she’s going to say until she hears herself continue, “I can’t promise that I’ll get there.” 

When she returns her gaze to him, he nods. 

“Okay,” he says back, and part of her wishes he would fight for it. That he would have something other than this resigned sadness about him. 

But as it is, he has nothing else for her, and it’s only a few minutes later that she gets up and leaves.

\--

It takes less than two hours for them to arrive. Meetra feels her body tense as this new planet fills the viewport--with what happened on Nathema, she can’t help but fear this will have the same feeling. The same emptiness. Whatever Revan’s after, it’s not like anything they’ve faced before, and if Revan’s afraid of it, then what is Meetra supposed to feel? 

But where Nathema was visibly dead, even from such a distance, this planet looks vividly alive. Her eyes widen at the lush greenery, peaks and valleys of verdant green in shifting shades. The only similarity it bears to Nathema is the black mark across its surface. A visible wound--both violent and unmistakable. Stark burn versus stark life. 

“You think that’s like her tag?” Atton asks. 

She smirks. “Might be our ‘Greater Forces’ at work.” 

“Seems to me like she already dealt with them.” 

“That’s one way of putting it,” Meetra says. In truth, she doesn't know what to make of it. The mystery of what Revan’s doing feels like it should have an answer. All the clues are there--as if just one piece of the puzzle is missing, and once they find it, everything else will click into place.

Or at least, she hopes that’s what happens. 

Atton brings the ship down to the coordinates Revan left for them, and like Nathema, it’s just outside that charred line across the surface of the planet. The Force stays strong and clear, so Meetra eyes that line carefully, hoping that this time they’ll have the opportunity to investigate it. 

“So,” Atton starts once they touch the ground. “Am I allowed to come with you, or am I stuck babysitting the ship again?” 

Meetra considers it as she glances out the viewport at the lush forest beyond it. The Force gives her no warning, no impending sense of danger--something that couldn’t be found on Nathema--and so she nods when she turns back to him. “Come on, flyboy.” 

They meet Malak and T3 at the loading ramp. He doesn’t say anything as they approach, and despite the way she’s blocked out their bond, his anxiety is remarkably palpable. It shakes through her, dissipating only where the solid line of Atton’s body follows behind her. The three of them and their droid wait in silence as the loading ramp lowers to the ground. 

Cool air rushes in, gentle and sweet-smelling, and nearly lulls Meetra into its softness. Stepping down into the grass, she’s reminded of her limited time on Dantooine, both in the past and present. It’s in the way the sun angles down, pouring through the leaves of the trees above them like water. It spills down, casting the ground in a relief of shadows and spots of soft, golden light. 

“Careful,” she says, even as the words ring hollow against the sweet air. “We don’t know what Revan fought here.”

“Because it’s inevitable that she fought something,” Atton mutters beside her, but she turns to see the way the sun coats over his olive skin, and how he marginally tilts his face up towards it. 

Malak doesn’t say anything. 

“Something had to leave that mark,” she continues eventually, and her gaze travels to a line of trees in the distance. The woods are too thick to see the damage from here, but it’s close. “Perhaps this time we’ll find out what it was.” 

The sound of their footsteps is quiet on the soft grass. The entire planet is quiet save for the sound of distant birds calling back and forth to one another. Meetra greedily breathes in the fresh air, crushing down the memory of Nathema with it. It feels so good to be beneath the trees like this, tracing her eyes up their thick trunks into the nestles of green leaves against the blue sky. 

For whatever reason Revan sent them to Nathema, at least she’s made it up to them by sending them here. 

She glances at Malak. “Does this place seem familiar at all?” 

“No,” he says, but the line of his shoulders softens. “She must have found it after the wars. She’d been to Nathema, but there wouldn’t have been an opportunity to come here until much later.” 

Meetra presses her lips together, focusing her attention on the ground as she steps over a wayward root. “Seems like she found her own trail to follow.” 

They walk in relative silence, save for some of Atton’s observations of the landscape, until a stone structure appears through the spaces between the trees. It’s undefined at first--hard to make out until they draw close enough to reach the clearing that it sits in. It’s short, square with several tiers that are covered in moss and weeds. Above the door is writing that closely resembles what they found on Nathema, and at the very top of the temple sits some kind of sculpture. It rises on a thin metal pole, curving into a crescent moon shape against the sky. 

“Wow,” Atton says under his breath, and Meetra can’t help but share the sentiment. Unlike Nathema, they have the luxury of time to observe it, and she can feel its age permeate the space. This place has sat here alone for a very, very long time. 

Inside looks much like the last temple they visited. T3 lights up the space, illuminating drawings on the walls that bear much resemblance to the previous ones. Meetra lets her gaze travel over them lightly, looking for anything that stands out, before she sees the podium at the back of the room where what looks like another letter from Revan waits. 

Malak heads back there first, and Meetra sighs. “I’m gonna go check out up top,” she says to Atton, and ducks out of the dark room back into the sunlight. 

It takes some effort to climb to the top of the temple. Despite the cool air, sweat breaks out on her forehead as she hauls herself up each tier of the temple. The top is still below the tree line, so the only view she has as she stands with her hands on her hips, eyes gazing out at the area surrounding the temple, is the same verdant green they’ve seen so far. 

“What did you find here?” she asks aloud, but the trees don’t have an answer for her. She thinks of Kreia in this moment, wondering if the older woman really was part of Revan’s plan. Or maybe it was the other way around, that Kreia was more of a puppet master than she revealed herself to be. 

A chill shakes through her as she considers the implication of Revan and Kreia plotting this together, reeling Meetra back into the fold of it. _ Why couldn’t you tell me the truth? _ she wonders, wishing that for a moment her old Master was still alive, that she could answer Meetra’s questions in a way that would make sense. 

She sighs, but instead of climbing back down, she turns to the pole that rises from the roof. This close, it stands much taller than she’d expected and she reaches out, getting only a moment’s notice from the Force before pain shoots through her hand. 

It’s hot to the touch. 

She hisses, pulling away with a sharp motion before her lips curve into a frown and her burned hand curls into a fist. Frustration sits at the base of her throat--there are too many pieces to this puzzle, and staring at this...what looks to be an antenna of some kind, is just another thing she doesn’t understand. 

If there’s heat, though, there’s energy. Meetra lets her mind trace back to her lessons with Visas, where the two of them kneeled together and looked at the world through the Force. Maybe she’s not looking in the right way...

She takes a breath, closes her eyes, and reaches out with her senses. 

It’s faint at first, difficult to draw near to, but it sets itself ablaze the moment after it clears. The pure energy of it rises from the rooftop, stretching into the sky above her and arcing over the trees towards where she knows that black mark is. It rushes--deep colors she can see only through the Force--and swirls from the point in front of her, spiraling out from the half-moon shape, and it takes her breath away. 

“What the hell?” she murmurs, and opens her eyes. The peaceful quiet of the space is jarring in the face of what’s beneath the surface. She stares at it for what feels like a long time, cycling through her thoughts for one that makes sense, until she hears Atton’s voice call from down below. 

“Hey Surik!” he yells, and when she looks over her shoulder he’s standing outside the entrance to the temple, head tilted back. “Find anything up there?” 

She presses her lips together, glancing back at the still empty space, and shakes her head. “Not really.” 

Even if she could describe it, she isn’t sure that what she just saw was the answer to _ anything _. Down below, Malak steps out of the temple as well, Revan’s letter in his hand, and he follows Atton’s gaze up to her before he turns his back to both of them and heads in the direction of the charred earth. Meetra takes that as her cue to carefully climb down.

“Is your hand okay?” Atton asks once she lands against the grass next to him, and she looks down to see that it’s still curled into a fist.

Sharp pain burns through her as she uncurls it, the skin red and blistered as a slight tremor shakes through to her fingertips. She looks up to see Atton’s concern and tries a smile. “I guess not.” 

“How’d you get this?” he asks, keeping his voice light. 

“By touching things I shouldn’t be touching.” 

He rolls his eyes. “You never learn, do you?” 

Instead of answering, she holds out her hand for him to take. They may not talk about it, but a smug smile creeps over her lips as he holds his hand in hers and closes his eyes. The warmth of the Force covers over her palm, something she’s still not used to despite the ways she’s been healed by it her entire life. It’s the strange sensation of her skin knitting back together, something angry becoming something calm. 

He lets go and she looks down again. The skin on her palm shines, slightly red still, but it’s completely smooth and the pain is nonexistent. She smiles up at him. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” he says, but he half turns, gesturing with his head for her to walk with him in the direction that Malak went. 

Atton’s never been good at talking about healing. He may have given in to the Force, but she knows he struggles with it, even moreso because it comes so naturally to him. As much as he brags about most things in his life, he’s always so quiet when it comes to this. Even Mical has spoken to her about it in hushed tones in the medbay--that Atton should be utilized more often than he is. 

Normally she’d confront him on it, but today she slips her good hand into his as they walk behind Malak, lifting it and pressing her lips against his knuckles. Their footsteps are quiet still, and though her senses are on alert, the Force tells her that whatever threat was here is long gone. That whatever she felt on top of that Temple is of the past, not of the present.

“I think he was expecting her to be here,” Atton says. 

“I don’t know why,” Meetra responds. Malak’s a fair distance ahead of them but stays in sight. His coat is shrugged up by his shoulders, revealing only the hint of his fading tattoos. “Nothing’s _ that _ easy for us.” 

Atton snorts. “And here I thought I was supposed to be the pessimist in this relationship.”

“Not when it comes to Revan and Malak.” 

She can feel his gaze on her but she doesn’t meet it, even as the corners of her lips turn up. He turns back to the path ahead of them. “I guess that’s fair.” 

They both fall into silence as they approach the scorched earth. Black seeps through the cracks of the trees, and up ahead, Malak kneels down at the trunk of one in particular. Gone is the soft, sweet air, and instead the smell of smoke rises from the earth--bitter and hot. 

“What do you think caused it?” she asks once they’ve caught up to Malak. 

He looks up at her. “Whatever happened, it happened fast,” he says, and he stands up. His hand points to the charred leaves. “Everything is still intact--these are burnt, but they didn’t _ burn_. Something tore through here hot enough to cause this, but it couldn’t have stayed for long.”

Meetra thinks of her injured hand, the vision of light above the temple, and what this could all possibly mean together. 

“She couldn’t make it easy on us, huh?” Atton murmurs. 

Meetra’s lips quirk. “What did her letter say this time?”

Malak doesn’t look at her, he merely holds the paper out in her direction as his eyes continue to scan their scorched surroundings. She takes it from him, stepping away from the two men as they pull down some branches and leaves to examine them. Heading for fresher air, she ends up sitting at a tree just far enough away to feel the peace of the planet again while still keeping an eye on them. 

Before she reads it, she allows herself a moment. Just one. It’s what she did on Dantooine, after she first saw the remnants of the temple. Her exhaustion was already bone deep from the politics, from the pressure of finding Master Vrook, of all people, so she stole a moment. She took a breath by the blba trees, wishing that her and Kavar had spent more time on the planet before everything happened.

So now she allows herself this moment, a pause in the confusion, just to breathe in and pretend that for now everything is okay. 

Then her hands tighten around Revan’s letter, and she looks down. 

_ Mal, _

_ I hope you’re the one who’s finding these letters--they’d be useless to anyone else. I’m not sure if I even want you to read this, to be honest. I’m not sure about a lot of things anymore. It’s been four years since I’ve seen you and that’s such a strange thought. Apart from my lost years, I haven’t gone this long without you since we were thirteen. _

_ I wish I could do it all over again. I wish I could see you as a boy again, back when we were the same height and you were missing your front teeth. You always had the best smile, Mal. You still would, but I ruined that too. _

_ I suppose that’s part of why I’m doing this. I keep thinking of everything I’ve ruined and it never stops. I wanted to remember so badly but you were right. You knew it then, and you yelled at me for it, and I was so frustrated but I should’ve trusted you. I need to--I want to make up for it, but I’m scared that nothing I do will ever give me peace again. _

_ I know you’re not going to like this, but I’m also just scared, Mal. Of everything. I kept Jolee’s novels, though, and they help. They chase away both the fear and the boredom. When I read them I can almost pretend we’re in his living room together, tucked up on his couch in front of the fire. Those moments were the closest I was to being happy at that time, and I wish I knew then that it would’ve been okay to tell you how I felt. I keep laughing at the idea that I almost fell for you all over again. _

_ I’m sorry that I was so confused, that I demanded so much from you. Kissing you goodbye might’ve been the only thing I got right. _

Meetra pauses, lifting her gaze to Malak in the distance. He and Atton stand facing each other speaking words that Meetra can’t hear from here. This letter is the confirmation that they needed that Revan remembers her past, but the intimacy of it is nearly too much to bear. 

She takes a breath and continues. 

_ Please be careful. I mean it. Please, please be careful. I hope you’re not alone, that maybe at least some of the plan has been salvaged, but if you are: turn around. Don’t do it. I know what you’re thinking--it’s what I’d be thinking, after all--but it’s not worth it. If I don’t come back, and this is all that’s left, don’t count on seeing me again. _

_ I say that because I care about you, and I need you to be safe. _

_ R. _

That’s it. Meetra looks up again and she thinks she understands why Malak’s expressions sits the way it does on his features. He and Atton are still talking by the trees but she doesn’t feel irritation now. She doesn’t feel sad either. She just...feels. 

The second page is a map similar to what they found on Nathema, the coordinates not far from where they are now. 

Where they are now--Meetra breathes in the warm air, wishing they didn’t have to leave this place. It would’ve been nice if Revan _ was _ here, like Malak expected. If they could spend some time feeling the energy of this planet. No name, nothing special, just one haven tucked away into a pocket in the galaxy, where it can exist freely on its own.

She knows this can’t last, so she takes it in for what its worth before she makes herself get up and head back towards the boys. She holds the letter out for Malak the same way he did for her, and he takes it back with a carefully blank expression. Careful, because he tries too hard to keep the emotion off of his features, but he can’t quite hide the way it sits in his eyes. 

“You ready to get going?” Atton asks her, and she nods, still watching Malak as if she can understand him and Revan just by doing so. “We don’t think we’re going to find any more answers here.” 

“Yeah,” she says, and the three of them pick their way back to the ship, where T3 waits for them at the loading ramp. They’re slow to leave, but soon enough Meetra stands at the galaxy map, logging these new coordinates while Atton prepares the ship for takeoff. 

“Did you read it?” Meetra asks in a quiet voice. The whole experience washes over her in waves, overwhelming in a way that’s different from Nathema, but overwhelming all the same. 

“Revan’s letter?” Atton asks. “Yeah. I’d be pissed if I was him.” 

She breathes out a laugh that sounds more confused than anything else. “He doesn’t seem like he feels anything.” 

He looks back over his shoulder. “I don’t think he’s allowed--you know, the whole Sith Lord deal.” 

“Really puts a damper on things,” she says with a short laugh as she finally takes the seat next to him. Her lips thin out into a straight line. “Shouldn’t joke about that, I guess.” 

Atton just shrugs. “What else can you do?” 

“I don’t know--get over it?” 

They share a look, an unspoken _ easier said than done _ passes between them, and Meetra desperately thinks of something else to say in the face of it. 

Of course it’s Atton who always saves her, this time by saying, “We should heat up some of the food Frela gave us. Force knows we could all use a real meal.” 

\--

Atton saves her in more ways than he knows. He saves her in ways that he’d deny if she told him, that he’d turn around on her and say that does even moreso for him. She thinks about what they’ve sacrificed, what they have freely given, and what they’ve taken from each other. Atton and Meetra both need each other, and it’s a constant push and pull that _ works _. 

She knows she would not be here without him. 

And she knows him. From the jokes that he hides behind, to the soft set of his features when he opens up to her. She knows the lines of his body, the way his breath hitches when she kisses under his jaw, and how sometimes his fingers will reach out and grasp her wrist loosely in his hand. What she doesn’t know is which one of them the gesture is supposed to comfort. 

These are intimate ways to know someone, but nothing is as intimate as feeling what they feel, to bond so closely through the Force. To feel their hearts beat in tandem, to hear stray thoughts drifting through each other’s minds. It is unlike any of her other bonds, it is--

It is love. She knows this. 

It is love, and love, and love, and love. 

\--

And she knows this: confronting Malak no longer requires the same bravery it once did. 

While seeking him out is still strange, uncomfortable, and something she’d rather avoid, it doesn’t take the same strength it used to. Maybe it’s Revan’s letters, maybe it’s their old bond, or maybe it’s just Meetra, softening to the point where Malak is something to be pitied instead of feared. 

Perhaps the trouble with knowing each other so well is that they both know that some part of her still cares. 

She finds him in the starboard dormitories, curled up in his bunk with a datapad in his hand. If she hadn’t already known that his connection to the Force was so diminished, she’d be aware of it just by the time it takes him to notice that she’s there, leaned against the entrance of the room. 

His brows raise once he catches a glimpse of her, and he sits up as he clicks off the datapad. “Hey, what’s up?”

But she’s not here to talk. “Can you fight?” 

“What?” 

“Can you fight?” she repeats, not pretending that she wants anything from him other than the answer to her question. “Revan’s letters keep warning us, and I need to know that if it comes down to it, you’ll be able to fight.” 

He makes a small sound in the back of his throat--something between a scoff and a huff of amusement. “I’ve spent more than half of my life fighting, Mee. I think I can manage when it comes down to it.” 

But Meetra isn’t convinced, because she knows that this isn’t the same Malak he once was. There isn’t much left of that old spirit, and she both hopes and fears for its effect on him. 

“When’s the last time you picked up a lightsaber?” 

She knows she was right to ask when he turns his head away. “The Star Forge.” 

“What about a practice saber or a sword?” 

“Briefly--with Revan, but not since then.”

Meetra raises a brow. “A blaster?” 

He looks back at her, a loose smile working its way onto his lips. “A few times here and there to chase off the manka cats from Frela’s farm. I hate them, though.” 

In all her years of knowing him, she’s never seen a blaster in Malak’s hands. The thought of it is too absurd to even imagine. 

“I’m not putting my life in the hands of someone who hasn’t trained in five years,” she says, and a shadow passes over his eyes as he turns his head away. “I have a couple practice blades in the cargo hold,” she continues, “if you want to try them out.” 

His gaze immediately lands on her again, and maybe some of that old spark is still there, given the way he perks up. There’s a half-smile on his lips, and it almost rises before he pauses to ask, “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” 

_ I might surprise you_, she thinks to herself, but all she does is nod. “Meet me there in two hours.” 

\--

By the time they face each other in the cargo hold, practice sabers in hand, Meetra’s had enough time to reconsider her answer. 

Malak seems to, as well, considering the guarded expression on his face. It makes sense for both of them to hesitate. Malak--who took on the galaxy with a ruthlessness that Revan couldn’t have taught him, only to put down his blade for five years. And Meetra--who still might be angry about it. 

It doesn’t matter, though. She knows this as she stands in ready position. 

Malak matches her, meeting her gaze, and her stomach twists at the familiar sight. They start slow, with cautious steps that they both know so well. They did this several afternoons a week during his first year on Coruscant, back when she shadowed him and Kavar. She’d watch them spar, trading masterful blows, and when they were finished she’d ask to give it a shot. 

He beat her every time. Her power was always stronger in the Force, but she liked pushing herself, always telling him _ next time _ despite the way next time never came. 

So she’s determined now. He’s five years out of practice and she’s been fighting for her life for the last several months. If she has any chance of beating him, this is it. 

She gives it everything she has. Her single blade against his. It’s been so long but she remembers the familiar motions of their duels. The routine of it. She pushes him and lets him push her back, finding a rhythm that neither of them thought would ever be found again. 

Meetra’s content to let him get lulled by it, putting up this false front of sticking to what they know. It takes several minutes for her to break it, abandoning her stance for a sharp turn to her left, ducking under his reach and raising her blade strike him, defenseless. 

But he meets her there. For a moment their blades remain locked between them, and Meetra looks up at him with wide eyes, her lungs burning. Malak meets her gaze with a smirk. 

Heat like anger rushes through her chest out to her fingertips. She tightens her grip on her blade, feeling her expression harden, and doubles down on her efforts. She knows it’s foolish, she knows that it makes her sloppy, but she gives in to it. 

Her strength is undeniable. She knows this as well. Kreia, Sion, Nihilus...she took all of them down. Her life was on the line then, and if she didn’t hold her own, it would’ve been the end. She supposes this is different, as she ducks under his sweeping blade, because she can’t call upon the Force to attack him. She can’t use her real power against him, as much as she wants to in this moment. All she has are her hands and the blade that sings through the air and meets his over and over again. 

She has this truth: all these years later, and she still can’t beat him.

The realization comes not with resignation, but with a rising fire. Her movements lose traction, and she lashes out one last time before his blade hits her squarely in the stomach and she stumbles back. 

“Why did you do it!” she yells. The sudden presence of her voice, and the volume of it, fill the entire cargo hold, taking them both by surprise. It doesn’t matter, though, as the words continue to spill out: “Why did you fall? You gave in so easily, but you had a choice!” 

Malak lowers his blade, his chest heaving with effort, and his eyes blink long and slow and sad. “I couldn’t betray her.”

“You did betray her!” she yells again. Her grip tightens around the practice saber but she keeps it by her side. “You were the only one who could have stopped it from happening, and you didn’t! You were weak, and selfish, and _ stupid_.” 

His voice is still quiet. “I know.” 

“You chose her, and how many people died for it? How much has been ruined because of it?”

“I _ know _,” he says again, louder this time. “You don’t have to remind me, I live with that guilt every day.” 

“Then why do you still choose her? How can you, after you gave up on so much the first time?” Meetra asks, and the intensity hasn’t left her voice but it’s quieter now. 

The question hangs in the silence of the cargo hold as Malak turns his head away. His shoulders drop. “Because I’ve known her since we were children, before anything bad ever happened to her. Because--because we’ve failed each other too many times, and I can’t give up on her now. Not after everything.” 

“Not even the ways she’s hurt you?” she asks, glancing down at his jaw. 

“Even then,” he says, and there’s something fragile about his voice in this moment. It still isn’t what she’s used to, still something mechanical and strange. “So much changed after you left, Mee, but we both suffered for our choices, and we both deserved it. But I also believe we can come back from it, and I hope you can understand that.”

She frowns as her hold on her anger loosens. She doesn’t know what emotion to put in its stead. “What do you mean?” 

“Do you love Atton?” he asks, and Meetra bites down the shock that rushes through her. She’ll never admit it to him before she tells Atton, so she turns her head away, which is just as good as an admission. “And you know what he’s done.” 

_ Murderer_, a voice says in her mind, sounding a lot like Kreia. 

Still, she turns her glare on Malak. “That’s hardly fair, you--”

“No, I know you can’t compare them,” he interrupts before she can finish. He sighs. “None of our actions can be compared, but we’re all trying. I was so angry with Revan when she left, but I think I understand now that it’s something she needed to do. Nothing will make up for the past, but I get it....needing to make it right. If she found a way to get there, then...then that’s good. I just can’t let her pay for it with her life, not if there’s something I can do to help.”

Meetra doesn’t have words to say to that and if she did, she isn’t sure she’d even be able to say them. 

“I love her,” he continues, his voice unsteady. “I have always, always loved her--and it has ruined me, and it has saved me.” 

Meetra’s chest tightens. Her heart is such a soft, soft thing. She has always had too much love for others, always let them get too close and let the bonds of the Force connect her with the world. She tries so hard to ignore it with him, but it gets harder and harder-- 

“Did you tell her that?” she asks. The words are weak, barely above a whisper.

He nods. “I did.” 

She breathes out. None of her training has prepared her for this. Nothing could have prepared her for this, but it’s Revan’s fault that they are here, and she can’t let herself forget that. She can’t let herself break for them. 

Not even if some part of her wants to. 

“We should be close to our next planet,” she says, and hesitates only a second before she moves around him, depositing her training saber in the cabinet near the door. 

It’s when she’s about to step out of the room that she hears him say, “Meetra--” 

She looks back. 

“I know I can’t ask you to forgive either of us,” he says, “but it might help you feel better.” 

She doesn’t say anything as she walks out. 

\--

Atton takes one look at her as she enters the cockpit, and lets out a long sigh. 

“I know,” she says, because he must be tired of this, must be tired of _ her_. Frankly, she is too. At this point she wouldn’t blame him for taking a step back, for taking a time out, and it’s with endless gratitude that she knows he won’t. That despite all her righteous anger and scars of wounds that never healed right, he will remain by her side. 

So she goes to him instead of taking her usual seat, cupping his face in her hands as she presses her lips to his. It takes a breath of a moment for him to yield, and he tilts his head back as his hands reach out for her. 

Push and pull, light and dark, _ forgiveness_. Where this life gets too complicated, she finds comfort in the simplicity of what this is between them. That despite what it took to get here, she thinks that the feeling of his lips against hers is the closest she’ll ever get to that home she longs for. 

That whatever storm brews within them individually, calms when they’re together. 

“I--” she starts as she pulls away, trying not to feel too proud as she takes in the slightly bewildered grin on his face. 

(She should just tell him, shouldn’t she? Despite her nerves, she thinks that maybe it wouldn’t be as big a deal as she’s making it out to be in her mind. They’ve been through too much together to let simple words trip them up or break them apart. 

_ I love you _, she could say, and just like that it would be out there. He would know. 

The only question is--would he say it back?)

“How close are we?” she asks instead, swallowing down the words she tucks away in her heart for now. She will get there some day, and she trusts that when she does, he will meet her there. 

“Shouldn’t be much longer,” he says, and clears his throat. “Not a bad way to pass the time, though.” 

She winks at him before she take her seat, pulling out her datapad that she had T3 upload the latest images to. She takes her time with each one, feeling ever presently on the precipice of understanding but never quite getting there. Something about the painting on the back wall reminds her of the vision she had on top of the temple, but it still doesn’t make sense. 

Is she seeing the past or the present? Is it the remnant of Revan or what Revan’s searching for? She wants the answer but some part of her hesitates, and the knowledge that Revan fears what she’s heading for doesn’t put Meetra at ease. 

“Dropping from hyperspace in three, two...” 

Meetra glances up as the change in momentum jolts the ship in place, leaving them a fair distance away from a new planet. Her eyes roam over the giant before her, revolving in this dark place so far from its sun. The planet itself is mostly white and blue, dragging up memories of Telos’ polar region, save for one thing--

“Well, we know she’s been here,” Atton says, and his gaze must be on that black mark stretched across the surface as well. It looks just the same as the others, and the disappointment that blooms in Meetra’s chest has her wondering if she was hoping it would be different. 

And perhaps it’s that disappointment that has her settle into the idea that this planet won’t have any answers, that it’ll be just another piece of this unfinished puzzle. It’s not until they reach the coordinates Revan left for them, only to find another ship already there, that she allows herself to consider the possibility that that they might’ve caught up to her after all. 


	7. Chapter 7

Despite all the realizations and small truths that Meetra's found, there are always more.

And this is one: looking at the strange new ship beside the _ Ebon Hawk_, Meetra thinks she finally understands Bao-Dur. 

It isn’t the ship itself that makes her think of him. There isn't anything familiar about its make or model, no similarities in its lines to anything she's seen before. In fact, this ship is entirely a stranger to her, a stranger to Atton, and a stranger to Malak, whose whole spirit wakes up at its sight. 

No, it isn’t the ship, but rather the feeling that comes over her as she considers what it means. Finding Bao-Dur on Telos was nothing short of the Force merging their paths back together after their years of separation--how else does one stumble across an old friend like that? She remembers, then, thinking that he was doing so much better than her. She was jealous of the way he'd moved on, certain about what he was doing because he was doing something good. He looked at his hands and decided to make up for the crime they both committed. 

But that is who Bao-Dur is. Slow and patient, calm and focused. He fixes things. Where she ran from her past, he ran towards his future--

(though later she found that it was still a form of running, still a way to escape the hurt that nothing you do will ever make up for--)

and she knew she'd never have the same goodness in her. Back then, she thought she was a lost cause, looking at someone who shared the same pain as her but used it to heal instead. 

But now it's like the galaxy has turned to her, it puts this ship in her path, and it says, _ do you get it now? _

She thinks maybe she does. That this is what Bao-Dur knew all along. 

Being good is just a choice you make. It isn’t because of who you are, but despite it. It’s because you take the opportunity when it presents itself to you.

And for all of Meetra's flaws--her hesitance, her lack of forgiveness, her anger that she still feels threaded in the clench of her fists--she looks at this unknown ship, and finally thinks that maybe this is something she can fix. 

\--

The thought lasts for as long as she can feel her fingers. Despite her heavy outer robe, the cold still clutches at her as she follows Malak's footprints through the snow. Follows, because his long legs carry him further and faster, because he has hope, for once, and it's made him more alive than she's seen him since they found each other again. 

Atton stayed behind with the unknown ship. Once they'd determined that it was empty, the three of them decided that someone should watch it, just in case its owner came back while they were searching for the temple. And where Malak has brightened, Atton has dimmed. Equal and opposite energies. Hope and fear. She knows Atton doubts that it's actually Revan, and part of her hates to admit that he might be right. 

Her own doubt swooped through her stomach long before Atton had said, _ I have a bad feeling about this_, but it can’t matter. They have a goal here, and whoever that ship belongs to will either be the answer or just another question. 

So Meetra follows Malak through the cold. The terrain itself isn't too difficult, the surface is packed enough that only every few steps her boots dig into the snow. Malak's footprints are more consistent, deep and shadowed and when she gets tired, she carefully steps into them. Her chapped lips quirk into a smile because once upon a time she followed in his footsteps, to war, to death, and now she does again, through the cold, towards something she knows he feels hopeful for but still makes her so uncertain. 

Because if it is Revan, then where do they go from here? This mission is more than reuniting the two former Sith--there are so many questions to be answered, and so little trust to be found. Meetra doesn't know how she'll feel when she looks upon Revan's face again. Her resentment has kept her going, her blame has resounded through her thoughts for too long. 

_ I wish I met you earlier_, Revan had said to her once. It was during the war, when from time to time Revan would actually sit and have a conversation with her. She was a dead spot in the Force, then--empty and silent. She always was around Meetra, who didn't understand why. She couldn't believe that such a powerful Jedi could feel so hollow. Maybe it was something Revan chose to do, that she understood the bond but didn't want it. 

Which perhaps hurts a little more. 

_ I wish I met you earlier than I did_, Revan had said once to her, and Meetra didn't think much of it at the time. 

_ Why? _ she’d asked. _ What would be different? _

And those cold blue eyes turned away from her, the soft line of her lips turned down as she answered, _ Enough_. 

Meetra swallows now, her throat suddenly dry. It isn't the cold air that does it but she pretends it is, and it isn't that she never understood what Revan meant then, because she does. Because some part of her felt it too, that they met too late, that being friends was never on the table for them despite the way it should've been. Revan was already too far gone by Coruscant, and Meetra never reached her and Malak never stopped her. 

The phantom ache in her chest feels real, and her gloved hand half-raises for a moment before she stops herself. She has to blink at her surroundings, at the white on white landscape, the faded gray sky, and the distant, weak sun. There's an emptiness here, similar to Nathema but still alive. There are no mountains, no cliffs, no trees or animals or anything that would give this place a certain feeling. No--it's a sprawl of snow: lonely and distant and spreading. 

"Malak!" she calls, watching the line of his shoulders shift before he looks back at her. He's wearing a jacket that he packed, but it doesn't look heavy enough, and where he stops, Meetra catches up to him. 

"What?" he asks, and his cheeks are tinged with pink from the cold as his breath fans out in front of him. "I think we're almost there." 

He's probably right, which makes the dread a little worse.

"We should stay together," she says, which might be funny, coming from her. It might be funny considering their past. It might be funny because she never thought she'd be with Malak again--she thought he was dead and yet here they are together, on a cold, cold, planet, looking for the woman who once ruined them both. 

His gaze pauses long enough for him to understand. "You don't think she's here."

"I think we need to be careful." She'd briefly considered giving Malak a lightsaber, just in case. They don't know what danger they'll find and Revan's letters have certainly warned them enough, but--

It's still Malak. He was still a Sith. She still can't trust him like that. 

But he relents, and they walk together with their footsteps crunching over the snow the only sound in the shifting silence. The wind bites, brutal, and Meetra hopes that Atton's weathering it okay. The thought of him is enough to warm her in this frigid place, and she keeps her mind on him until another temple rises on the horizon. 

In the wide open spaces of the landscape, it stands alone. Dark gray among all the white, it looks similar to the last one they encountered. There isn't a real sense of scale here, no trees to compare it to, but the closer they draw to it, the larger it looms. The outer stones are smoother, snow covered only in certain spots, and from the top stands another rod, this one rising into a full circle. 

It takes her breath away all at once despite its familiarity. Perhaps it’s her nerves, perhaps it’s the cold. Either way, her senses are on alert as they approach the temple, close enough to see the light that leaks out of the doorway from inside. 

Then there is another presence within her reach, and she stops to look at Malak, hoping that her eyes can communicate that they’re not alone. He seems to suspect it though, his hand thoughtlessly resting on his belt as though reaching for the lightsaber she did not give him. 

She takes out her own, though, and steps ahead of him. _ It could be Revan_, she thinks to herself even as she becomes increasingly sure that it isn’t. Her suspicions are confirmed once they enter, torch lights on either side of the doorway, revealing a tall, broad shouldered man. He stands with his back to them, but at the sound of their entrance he turns. 

She takes in his deep red skin, deeper red eyes, and fleshy, hanging skin along his jaw, and grips her lightsaber a little tighter. 

They watch each other for a span of time that feels long but might be short, and a profound disappointment washes over Malak, palpable in the stale air of the temple.

“Who are you?” Malak asks.

“Someone who seeks the same thing you do,” the man offers, as though he senses that they know he’s dangerous. That they know he’s _ Sith _. 

“And what is that?” There’s hostility in Malak’s voice, and Meetra’s stomach churns with uncertainty as the energy in the room twists. 

The man before them eyes him carefully, the color in them pure red, unlike anything she’s seen before. “A woman.” 

Meetra frowns. Beside her, she can sense the flare of anger in Malak, and knows that she needs to start talking before it escalates. “Who are you?” she repeats.

“My name is Scourge,” he says, his grin is slow and sly. “I suspect your trail ends here.” 

Malak does little to hide his reaction. “What do you mean?” 

Those red eyes pass back and forth between the two of them. “Your names, first.” 

“I’m Meetra,” she speaks up. “And this is Malak.” 

“Malak,” Scourge repeats. The two of them stand at about the same height, leaving Meetra to crane her head back a little. The Force hums quietly between all of them as they eye each other. “I believe this is for you.” 

He steps to the side, where another podium sits. There’s a letter on top, a datapad beside it, and Malak forgets all caution when he sees it. 

“No...” he murmurs, and desperation leaks into his voice as he goes to grab it. Meetra keeps her gaze on the Sith as Malak steps around him. 

“Why are you here?” Meetra asks Scourge as Malak picks up Revan’s letter. The situation feels like it’s quickly falling out of control, and she needs to find a way to put it back together. 

“I told you,” Scourge says. “I seek the woman who came here.” 

Meetra narrows her eyes. “You don’t know who she is.” 

“No,” he admits, “but I know her purpose, and I suspect our paths have crossed for a reason.” 

“And what reason is that?” 

Scourge shifts his weight but he doesn’t answer, instead he looks to Malak, who clutches Revan’s letter too tightly in his hands. His brows lower and his jaw clenches--Meetra isn’t sure what Revan’s letter says, but clearly it isn’t good. 

His appearance says anger, but the weak threads of their bond awaken such a sadness that it nearly brings tears to her eyes. Feeling the emotions of others--particularly when you don’t want to--never gets any more comfortable.

But then he lowers the letter, looking at Scourge darkly. “How did you know she was here?” 

His voice is laced with suspicion, and Meetra almost asks to read it, but she wants to know Scourge’s answer. The Sith merely looks at Malak with a solid expression, not shaken in the slightest. Their energies are completely opposite. 

“I have been following her,” he explains. “There are those who would wish to stop her, but I am not among them. Instead, I offer you my aid.” 

Meetra’s head spins as she tries to piece together this particular puzzle. She glances once at Malak but only asks, “Aid in what?” 

He looks at her simply. “Closing the temples.” 

Is that what Revan’s doing? Meetra feels a litany of questions on her lips but doesn’t utter a single one. “What do you get in return?” 

And here Scourge pauses. “Her trust.” 

“Why do you need that?” Malak snarls. 

“And more importantly,” Meetra adds, “what makes you think we need your help?” 

“I had counted on the possibility of running into you. I’ve been tracking her for some time, encountering the letters she’s written to you. As I’ve said, we seek the same goal, but though she requires my help, I know she will not accept it. Not unless you take me to her. And as for _ my _ part in this--” Scourge’s eyes shift pointedly to Malak. 

Malak looks back, long and hard at Scourge before his gaze wavers and drops to his hands, where the letter and datapad remain in a tight grasp. 

“Because she didn’t leave any coordinates,” Malak finishes for him. “She wants me to turn around.” 

Meetra frowns. _ What? _ This isn’t how it was supposed to go. “Why?” 

“I think she wants to protect me,” he says, holding up the datapad. “I gave this to her before she left, told her not to read it unless it was her last resort.”

“So her leaving it behind...” Meetra’s voice trails off. 

It goes unsaid. _ Her last resort_. A pang of grief sprints through Meetra’s chest, there and gone in a flash. Malak’s clearly last longer, given the lost look in his eyes.

But they are not alone, and it is not the time to fall apart. She turns to Scourge. “Let me guess, you know where she is?” 

“Perhaps,” he answers. “There are three temples she has yet to touch, it’s only a matter of which one she is at.” 

She frowns, knowing she can’t pretend to know what’s going on here. “What are these temples?” 

Scourge’s clear red eyes pin her in place for a long moment and she makes herself face him without fear. There is something wrong beneath the surface but she can’t name it. She can’t figure out the pieces in play now that he’s here. 

Finally he answers, “They were built by the Ar’adat thousands of years ago. They’re vessels of great power, capable of manipulating space itself. Their energy is unparalleled, but they have been...wrongfully used.”

Meetra feels herself shake her head. It’s not the full truth but it’s more truth than they had before, and despite all the questions she has about his explanation, the one she makes herself ask is, “Who misused them?”

“That is not important,” Scourge answers. “What is important is that the woman you seek is stopping them. Her power must be great for her to accomplish such a task, which is why I fear that she will not have the strength to finish it.”

Malak breathes in, the sound sudden and when Meetra shifts her gaze to him, his expression is pained. “But you could lead us to her?”

“Malak,” she says sharply. She looks to Scourge. “You expect us to take your word for it? 

“As I am taking yours,” he says back, but it’s not the same, is it? Blind trust, blind faith, a _ Sith_\--all for Revan. 

But if their goals truly are aligned, then this won’t be the last they’ll see of him anyway. And if there is no other way to find Revan, then this is where their trail will end. If this is their only choice, then, well...it’s not much of a choice at all. 

She takes a slow breath in. “What do you propose?” 

“I will come aboard your ship,” he says, and there’s something expressionless about him. Something distant and cold--calculated. Perhaps that’s what throws her off. “I will give you coordinates, and we will discuss all that’s left to discuss.” 

“You have answers,” she states. 

His gaze flickers to Malak before returning to her. “So do you.” 

It’s a long moment that passes before she nods her head. It’s just the slightest motion--imperceptible, if you aren’t looking for it--but Scourge watches her with those red eyes, and she knows that he understands. He knows that she’s agreeing to this foolish proposition. 

She turns her gaze to Malak next, to see guarded fear cloud his familiar face. _ I don’t know if this is right_, she hopes her eyes communicate. _ I think I’m only doing this for you_. 

If Malak wasn’t here, would she turn back? The road that leads to Revan has been anything but smooth, but still she keeps going. 

Maybe it isn’t the time to ask why. Not yet. 

They walk in silence back to the _ Ebon Hawk_, mostly because of who they are, but also because they have to bite back the cold. Meetra’s teeth chatter as she crosses her arms over her chest, and still she lets Malak lead the way--they form a line with him at the front, and her at the rear. There wasn’t a chance she’d let Scourge walk behind her. 

The two ships come into focus soon enough, and Atton perks up, even from a distance. She feels the confusion radiate off of him as he sees that there are three of them, and that the third definitely isn’t Revan. 

“Are we running from something, or are we collecting tall, bald men, now?” he asks, only slightly out of Scourge and Malak’s earshot. 

“Not now, Atton,” she says, frustration bleeding into her voice. 

He falls into step beside her. “I’m good with the first one, you know, but the second?” 

She follows his gaze towards Scourge. “He might know where Revan is.” 

“Yeah, and he looks like a Sith. Like not like Revan and Malak kind of Sith, but like the ones in those legends.”

“I know,” she bites out. “That doesn’t mean we can’t use him.” 

“Is that what we’re doing?” he bites back. “Do you even know anything about him? Like why is he here, and how did he get you to agree to take him with us?”

“Revan stranded us. It’s our only option.”

He puts a hand on her arm, they both stop. She can’t find it in her to meet his gaze, so she stares at the snow-lined horizon and sighs out a breath. Atton does the same. “Our _ only _ option?” 

She knows what he means. It’s what she’d be saying just a week earlier, but...but things are different, somehow. Meetra doesn’t give up and she’s decided to do this and some part of her _ wants _ it. As much as her anger still burns for Revan, Malak’s words keep repeating through her mind. 

_ I know I can’t ask you to forgive either of us, but it might help you feel better. _

Is that too much to ask? Meetra finally sees a way out, and Atton reminds her of how little she wants to take it. 

“If we’re going to find Revan, then yes,” she answers, knowing deep down that it’s the truth. “Doesn’t mean that I like it.” 

He gives her a look. “Good to know you haven’t lost all your common sense.” 

“That’s not fair.”

“You haven’t liked any of this,” he says, and if there’s anything good about this, it’s that he keeps his voice down. “At what point do we say enough is enough?” 

“Stop it,” she says, because she knows he’s right and she knows she should agree. Maybe this is her blind faith from the war, the need to be accepted by Revan and Malak, or even to follow through on her word. To make herself honest, to show that she is what she says she is and despite the foolishness of her quest, she will complete it. 

She doesn't know when this changed. 

“Wait,” Atton says when she takes a step back towards the ship. Meetra bites down on the inside of her cheek and faces him again. Malak and Scourge go on ahead, blurring into the white snow. Atton’s eyes are sharp on her, cold gray, and the bond between them feels wary. “Were you going to ask my opinion on this, or are you just calling all the shots again?”

She breathes out slow, through her nose. “Again?” 

“It’s what you do, Surik.” 

Guilt churns in her stomach, but she’d rather that than the sliver of anger that sits below it. Her voice is empty as she says, “That’s because if it was up to you, we would’ve left Mical on Dantooine.” 

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” 

A tired laugh escapes her mouth on her next breath. “It wasn’t much of a decision, Atton. Like I said...our only option.”

Atton’s gaze stays on her. “That doesn’t make it the right thing to do.” 

“That’s why I have you here, right?” 

Because if it wasn’t for him, she’d be alone with Malak and Scourge. If it wasn’t for him, there would not be a single person she could trust, and she fears that it would’ve been the end for her. If she’d gone through with her original plan, with what Kreia asked of her, then-- She fears it still might be the end anyway, and perhaps this is the most foolish decision she could make. 

But Atton doesn’t push, because he’s an enabler, because there are too many feelings between them and that’s what Kreia warned her about. Atton doesn’t push because she knows he’ll have her back, and he knows she’s bull-headed and stubborn even when it’s dangerous. 

“Right.” He sighs, reaching out a hand to squeeze her shoulder before they resume their path back to the _ Ebon Hawk_. 

She doesn’t think it makes either of them feel better.

\--

“Tell me who you are.” 

Meetra stands at the opening of one of the _ Ebon Hawk’s _ corridors. Her arms are crossed, defensive, and her lightsaber remains clipped to her belt, just in reach. They’re back in hyperspace now--Scourge only provided the coordinates once they were in the air with his ship magnetically connected to the _ Hawk_. 

And now he sits in the main hold, red fingers curled around a cup of caf as he looks up at her. His lips curl into a grin, one she’ll never trust, and he says, “Clearly my name is not satisfactory.”

“No,” she says, because a name doesn’t tell her anything about him. A name doesn’t give her a reason to believe him past her own need, because he is _ here _ on her _ ship _ and it’s a threat to them all. Because even if she argued otherwise, she knows taking the only option presented to you rarely provides the results you want. “I need to understand why you’re here. Why you’re helping us.” 

His shoulders slump as he breathes out, as though this conversation was expected but it still annoys him. “I’m a historian, of a sort.”

She shakes her head. “That’s not all you are.” 

Because there is no mistaking the power that dwells in the Sith before her, not in his false humility, not in his knowing smirk as he says, “No, I suppose not.” 

“I’ve never met a Sith before. Your people are just stories to us. Myths.” 

“I can assure you we exist,” he says. “But that is a conversation for another time, and I’m certain you’d be far more interested in the Ar’adat.” 

Meetra frowns but she listens as he begins to tell her about the ancient race. There are many different versions of the tale, some saying that the Sith themselves are descendants, some saying that time has not stretched on so long, and that they once existed simultaneously. Either way, they were knowledgeable, and they had technology that cannot be measured even by today’s work. 

She wonders if it’s true, or if every culture has some version of the same thing. Her thoughts trace back to what she knows about the Rakata. Is it comforting to think that someone came before them, knew more, did better? 

“So they built these temples? For what purpose?” 

“It is not entirely clear,” Scourge starts. “There is a theory that they are responsible for the Force entering sentient beings, but I have studied them for years, and still I understand little of what the Ar’adat accomplished with them. Everything I have read, however, indicates their danger and the potential power that they wield.” 

She frowns. “Is that why you want to close them?” 

When he doesn’t answer for a moment, Meetra is forced to shift her gaze back to him. She’d been focused on the table, but she looks up to see a distant expression on his face, different from the careful composure he’s shown them thus far. 

“Yes,” he says finally. The word almost slips out, quiet, and he elaborates without her having to ask. “There is one that I have sworn my loyalty to. This assurance was...misplaced. He has used me for my knowledge on these temples.”

Once again she’s confronted with several questions, but lands on, “But what can they do?” 

“For now it is not a matter of what can be done, but rather what has already been done,” he states, and the words drop like a weight in her stomach. “They have been opened--aligned in such a way to create seams in the very space beyond each planet. These seams have let pure energy seep into the universe--dark energy--and if it continues, it could have dire consequences on the entire galaxy.” 

Another silence falls between them, but this time Meetra is the one to guide it as she stares at Scourge. Her mind pieces his words together but they don’t quite fit. 

“But why would you want to shut the dark out?” she asks, “When you so obviously serve it?” 

Because even if it wasn’t for his piercing red gaze or the history of his people, she’d still sense it within him. It lingers on the surface and within the depths of him, there and ready and waiting. 

He shakes his head. “Does the reason matter, when our goals are aligned?” 

Meetra breathes in, thinks of the last months of her life. She thinks of Kreia, the words _ You’ll never harm her again_, and says, “Yes.” 

His answer comes out in a quiet voice, as though he is ashamed of the very words he speaks. “The Force is about balance. These portals are tools of the dark, and I believe that should they all be opened, everything would fall. I may use this power, but even I can see the folly of the destruction it would cause.” 

“And Revan’s been closing them?” 

She doesn’t need him to say anything, once she asks the question her mind traces back to the wounds of each planet and she thinks, _ Yes, that would make sense _ . She thinks of her burned hand, the strange drawings on the walls, and she thinks, _ Maybe we are all out of our element, here. _

“I fear she may not be able to finish the task,” Scourge is saying, and Meetra refocuses her gaze on him. “That is why I seek her out. In all my studies, I have found references to an outside source of power--a catalyst to these temples. To the best of my knowledge, I believe this catalyst is needed to close the final portal, or they could all be opened once again.” 

Meetra blinks. “Where is it?” 

“I do not know,” he answers, and Meetra senses his honesty beyond the dejected words. “That is part of why I need to find her.” 

“Revan,” she says finally. “Her name is Revan.” 

She doesn’t know why she tells him, though it’s not like it’s some secret. Part of her wants to believe Scourge, that he’s telling the truth and he wants to help, but another part of her knows the story is carefully crafted and cannot be trusted.

She does not have the details. She does not have the facts. She does not know his true motivation. 

These are things, she supposes, she will learn in due time.

\--

She finds Atton in her quarters. 

It's been a long day, she thinks. It's been a long day, even longer with the onslaught of information that's been thrown at her. There are things she needs to do: she needs to talk to Malak--to read Revan's letter. She needs to finish her conversation with Scourge--to truly understand him and his purpose here. 

She looks at Atton, and she thinks she needs to apologize to him. Their argument earlier, however brief, doesn't sit well with her, and yet when she walks into her room, he offers her a smile that bleeds out her exhaustion. She breathes out, keeping her eyes on his, and swallows down the useless words she could be saying. 

He pulls her in, then. The distance between them shrinks until it's nothing at all, and she closes her eyes as his arms wrap around her. When she leans up to kiss him, she lets her walls down. She lets him in. 

At this point it’s a soft landing. There is no shock of the other presence within herself. Thoughts and words drift back and forth between them. Feelings, the explicable and inexplicable, get traded with each soft press of their lips.

_ I’m sorry, _ she thinks, fisting her hands in his shirt. _ I’m sorry. I’m sorry. _

And he pulls her closer. 

_ It’s okay. _

\--

She waits until the morning cycle to talk to Malak. 

Maybe Atton was right. The longer they’re on this journey the more she falls into old habits. Before, she would constantly roam around the ship, checking in on each person and making sure everything was okay. Part of that is just who she is--drawn to people. Part of it is the war--you don’t command an army without making sure the troops are behind you. 

But this isn’t an army, and Scourge and Malak aren’t her friends. 

Still, something punches through her chest when she finds Malak. He’s meditating in the dorm, or it looks like maybe he _ was _ meditating, but now he just stares blankly at the wall in front of him. It takes a moment for him to glance up at Meetra, and part of her wishes she was here to ask him to spar again, not to ask what the woman he loves wrote to say goodbye. 

But for all that Meetra knows Malak, he knows her as well, and with one glance up, his lips thin out into a straight line. He stands, pushes past her, and grabs the datapad and the letter from a drawer under one of the bunks. 

He holds only the letter out to her. 

“Malak...” she starts, but the word doesn’t sound right. It wasn’t meant to be like this, she thinks. They were supposed to keep going, follow Revan’s path until they inevitably found her. She knows better than to think it could be easy, but some part of her wanted it to be easier than this. 

Still, Malak doesn’t say anything, and Meetra takes the letter from his hand. 

_ Malak, _

_ I think about you all the time lately. I’ve never been good with my words, but I keep writing these letters in my head, desperate for you to know how I feel. I may not get a chance to ever tell you again, I may have spoiled and ruined everything good about you, but you are still alive, and there is more life for you to live. _

_ I love you. Some part of me has always loved you. Before, when I was a child and didn’t know what it meant, I loved you. Then, when we spent all those days on Coruscant together, I loved you. When you tried to bear the burden of the Averre’s death, I loved you. When you followed me to war, I loved you. When you killed for me, said you would die for me, I loved you even if I didn’t deserve to. _

_ I didn’t hate you when you fell, I hated that I did that to you. I knew your heart, and I twisted it until you became unrecognizable. I hurt you in ways I know I will never make up for. _

_ So let me do this: let me finish this alone. I’m sorry for everything I’ve done. To the galaxy, to you, to those who will hear this story and never understand why it happened. It doesn’t matter, as long as it’s done. If you are kept safe, then maybe I can feel some fraction of peace. _

_ It’s because I love you that I’m telling you to turn back. You have followed me for too long, and there is nothing to follow anymore. _

_ R. _

Meetra blinks back emotion as her eyes trace over the warped letters of the words. They’re uncertain, written as though her hand was shaking. There’s a feeling in Meetra’s chest, one she won’t name, and when she looks back up at Malak he won’t meet her gaze. 

She doesn’t blame him. 

“What’s on the datapad?” she asks, her voice quiet and thin. She can’t acknowledge Revan’s letter. She can’t do that to him, even if she knows she should.

“Memories,” he answers. “I wrote to her, told her stories, and she saved our pictures to it. It’s the only evidence of our life together.” 

Meetra wants to ask to see it but she knows it isn’t her place. This feels like an ending, in a way. From that bright smile on Coruscant, that stone cold face behind the mask, the yellowing eyes at the end, the story of redemption, of turning around and making things right. She has said her goodbye, but how could it end like this? She was supposed to come back, Meetra was supposed to yell at her about everything. 

It shouldn’t end in silence. 

But Malak clicks on the datapad and hands it to her. When she looks at the screen, she’s confronted with her own face. 

There they are, Revan and Malak, standing between Meetra, Talvon, Cariaga, and Nisotsa. There are smiles on each of their faces, unworn and unknowing of what’s to come. Perhaps it should break her heart, seeing them like that. Perhaps it should push the tears past her eyes, considering that aside from Revan, her and Malak are the only ones still alive. 

All she can think is how young they all look. 

_ I remember this day_, she wants to say. She wants to dip into that nostalgia with him, feel it all over again, share something good. She wants to do this, but the words go missing. What comes out instead is, “Can I have it?” 

Malak nods, and a moment later the photo uploads to her own datapad. She feels like she should say something else, here. In fact, she knows she should, but it’s so hard. It’s harder than Meetra ever thought it would be, letting Malak back into her life. He isn’t the same and she isn’t the same and nothing could ever be the same, but that doesn’t make it better. That doesn’t make it good. 

It is what it is and Meetra can’t say anything so she lets her hand reach forward until it covers his. He lifts his gaze to hers, and there aren’t any answers there, there isn’t anything except open grief, but he turns his hand over and threads his fingers through hers, and that’s enough. 

Sometimes that’s all it takes.

\--

“Want to see something?” 

Atton looks up from the pilot’s chair, gray eyes dim in the darkened cockpit. “I’m about to, considering we’re approaching Scourge’s coordinates.” 

“Something else,” Meetra says, and a strange wave of nervousness rushes through her fingertips before she holds her datapad out. 

Atton gives her a long look before he takes it, and even though she knows they’re okay, it’s reassuring to see him like this again. She watches his profile as his eyes move to the photo from earlier, her nerves then drowned by the fond smile that steals over his lips. 

“Look at you,” he says, his voice soft. “You look so young.” 

“I think I’d just turned twenty,” she says, letting the memory wash over her. It was a rare occurrence when all of them were on Coruscant at the same time, and they’d decided to go out. It was meant to be a quiet night, but between Talvon and Nisotsa, things got out of hand. 

She remembers dancing with Cariaga at the cantina, both of them tripping over their laughter at whatever stupid joke they were telling, then. The rare sound of Revan’s laughter echoed from the table, Talvon’s even louder. Nisotsa flirted her way through free drinks, eventually getting someone to buy them all a round. 

She remembers Malak asking a stranger to take their picture together, the five of them huddled in front of their table, arms wrapped around each other. War was more than just a conversation, then. War was inevitable, but in that moment, none of them had to believe it. 

“Is that Revan?” Atton asks, his fingertip hovering over Revan’s face. Her eyes stare into the camera, and you’d never know she was smiling if it wasn’t for the way her lips curved up at the corners. Looking at the photo, you would know she was in charge by her presence alone. 

“Yeah,” Meetra says, meeting the eyes of the woman they’ve been chasing, who might never be found. “Yeah, that’s her. I thought you would’ve known.” 

He shakes his head a little. “I never saw her without the mask on. She was beautiful.” 

Meetra feels no jealousy at Atton’s words. It’s not an admission or an admiration, it’s a statement. Revan is beautiful, Hoth is cold. These are things that are just true. 

Atton’s fingertip moves on from Revan, and Meetra’s heart drops when he asks, “Talvon?” 

She nods. To this day, she can’t think about Talvon without her throat feeling tight. Her eyes trace over his shaggy blonde hair, his wide, wide smile, and for one moment she allows herself to miss him fiercely. 

“Yeah that’s him,” she says finally. “Stupid idiot.” 

“Tell me about him?” There is caution in his voice. He doesn’t know the story but he knows it’s like most of her stories, meaning it doesn’t have a happy ending, meaning it’s hard to talk about. But it’s less of a request and more of an opening, something for Meetra to either accept or say, _ Maybe another time. _

She presses her lips together. “You know, you remind me of him, sometimes.” 

“What--charming? Handsome?”

“Talkative,” she finishes with a grin. “It was never quiet when he was around, but I needed that. Especially during the war...some days it was so hard, but then he’d be there cracking jokes. We’d stay up talking all night, and it would make life feel normal again.” 

Atton just watches her as she speaks, and the loose thread of her words unravels. “He was in love with Revan, even if he’d never admit it. I would tease him about it but he never found it funny, and he and Malak never got along that well. I suppose it makes more sense, now.” 

Her face falls. “She obviously cared for him. He’s the only one she told not to go with her against the Mandalorians. She didn’t want him fighting in the war because she didn’t want to lose him--she knew he only followed her because it was her, you know? He cared about the Mandalorians, but...he wasn’t a fighter. I guess he thought he could protect her. He should’ve listened.”

For a second, for a brief second, her mind flashes back to that awful day that he died, but she physically shakes her head to clear the memory away. Atton, sensing that she’s done talking about him, hands the datapad back to her. 

He might say something, she doesn’t really notice. She looks down into Talvon’s face, at those bright eyes, and swallows heavily. But then her gaze shifts to Revan, who so obsessively tried to spare him from the war that it hurt their relationship. Meetra’s hand brushes along the woman’s face, and for the first time in this whole journey, she hopes they find her. 

For the first time, she wants to know what she’ll say. 


End file.
